


An Issue of Consent

by Varkelton



Series: Consent [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape, Rape Recovery, Torture, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-10
Updated: 2009-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varkelton/pseuds/Varkelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has always needed Dean, but when a devastating attack leaves Sam cursed, that need is perverted into something he and Dean never expected. Dean will do whatever it takes to keep his brother safe, but will either one of them be able to live with the consequences?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was lucky enough to get two artists! Their amazing art can be found here: [](http://acerbus-instar.livejournal.com/profile)[**acerbus_instar**](http://acerbus-instar.livejournal.com/) 's **[Art](http://acerbus-instar.livejournal.com/364369.html)** and [](http://corbeaun.livejournal.com/profile)[**corbeaun**](http://corbeaun.livejournal.com/)'s **[Art](http://corbeaun.livejournal.com/37382.html)**.  
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> **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Warnings/Spoilers:** First time Wincest, dub-con (of the fuck-or-die variety), memories of non-con and torture. Also includes a brief hunt that references child-abuse (non-graphic). Major Hurt/Comfort and a teensy... _tiny_... bit of angst ::cough::  
>  **Disclaimer** : Do you suppose if I asked sweetly, the boys would give themselves to me? Yeah, I know, not after they read my stories. _Darn!_ Labor of love. No profit.
> 
>  **Dedication** : Dedicated to my sister, [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/) , because I love her. And beta’d by my sister [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/) , because I don’t love her that much. ;) Without her, this fic would never have seen the light of day. Also beta’d by [](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/profile)[**amara_m**](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://nighean-isis.livejournal.com/profile)[**nighean_isis**](http://nighean-isis.livejournal.com/) , and flailed over with [](http://denyce.livejournal.com/profile)[**denyce**](http://denyce.livejournal.com/) , [](http://ailise.livejournal.com/profile)[**ailise**](http://ailise.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://kkathyslash.livejournal.com/profile)[**kkathyslash**](http://kkathyslash.livejournal.com/). Because I needed a _lot_ of hand-holding, and, you know, not sharing is hard! I love you all.
> 
> Written for **[](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_j2_bigbang**](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com/)**. **Author’s Note** : This takes place towards the end of season one, after _Dead Man’s Blood_. Events are canon through this episode, but then go AU. After _Dead Man’s Blood_ , multiple leads cause the boys to separate from John after all, and now six months have passed. The events in _Salvation_ and _Devil’s Trap_ never happened.
> 
> _Art by Skadu aka acerbus_instar_
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note** : _This takes place towards the end of season one, after _Dead Man’s Blood_. Events are canon through this episode, but then go AU. After _Dead Man’s Blood_ , multiple leads cause the boys to separate from John after all, and now six months have passed. The events in _Salvation_ and _Devil’s Trap_ never happened._

  


****  
_NOW..._   


Dean lay on the bed with the blankets twisted tightly around his body. Sam could see the sweat glistening on Dean's forehead and upper lip. The tiny droplets caught the light and looked like glitter, or stars maybe. He swallowed the saliva gathering in his mouth, the thought of it mingling with Dean's sweat making him shiver slightly and he wiped his hand across his own suddenly sweating brow.

Dean twitched and huffed out a quiet puff of air before settling back down. Without taking his eyes from Dean's face, Sam slipped out from under the covers and onto the floor. He moved carefully to the side of his brother's bed, kneeling so that their heads were level.

Dean shifted lightly in his sleep and Sam tensed, holding his breath; he didn't want Dean to wake up, vaguely knew that that would be bad, but he just... he needed to be... closer...

The soft sounds of Dean's breathing filled the quiet room, drawing Sam in, and he found himself matching breath for breath. The unease slipped quietly away and he reached out, resting his hand on Dean's chest, feeling the reassuring movement of his brother's breathing.

The musky smell of Dean's overheated skin continued to build, and reclaimed Sam's attention as he breathed in deeply, letting the scent of it fill him. The aroma was rich, almost earthy, and it enveloped him in safety and contentment, calming his slightly racing heartbeat. He leaned in closer, letting the scent pull him until he was only inches from his brother's face. The smell of Dean's breath mingled with the other scents until Sam felt swathed in Dean. It was comforting. Like home. Or at least, the only home Sam had ever known.

The shimmering wetness on Dean's upper lip caught Sam's attention once more, stirring something low in his belly. He could feel his heartbeat pick up speed and felt himself flush as he fixated on the tiny drops. Slowly, irresistibly he was drawn in until his lips were almost brushing his brother's. Tentatively, he parted his lips and inched his tongue out, just enough to brush Dean's lip with the tip of it.

Dean's eyes snapped open; he started back, away from Sam, and pressed himself into the pillow. "Sam?" Dean whispered, his eyes reflecting confusion and apprehension, though he was completely, immediately awake.

Unease filled Sam as he felt his brother pull away, and he moved closer, chasing Dean's lips with his own, needing the comfort of his brother's touch. "Dean, please," he murmured, moving so that their lips slipped lightly together, a barely felt tickle of flesh against flesh.

He felt Dean's withdrawal as hands pushed against him, pushed him back, away from what he so desperately needed. "Sam, no! Stop it!"

The voice was loud in the quiet of the room, and the command pierced his body, his heart. Sam forced himself back from Dean in response, landing with his butt on the floor and scrambling away until his back hit the other bed. The pain of the separation was splitting him in two, and he brought his knees up, wrapping his arms around them, squeezing his eyes shut in a hopeless attempt to block out his awareness of Dean.

A low moan escaped, though he tried to keep it in. His heart was racing, his breath was short and quick, and panic was making all rational thought impossible. He dug his fingers painfully into his arms as he tried desperately to get himself back under control. He could feel tears prickle at the backs of his eyes as he rocked himself with quick, short little movements accompanied by a litany he was only barely aware he had started, "Dean... Dean..."

Strong hands wrapped around Sam's biceps, and Sam's eyes snapped open as his breath caught and held. Dean was kneeling next to him on the floor, the hold on his arms strong and reassuring. His panic eased slightly with his brother's closeness, and he locked his eyes with Dean's, frantically looking for... He didn't know what he was looking for; he only knew he needed his brother close. Needed to feel Dean's skin pressed close against his own.

"Oh God, Sammy... I'm sorry, I thought we had this shit beat." Dean's words barely registered.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off his brother's lips. He moved forward suddenly, catching Dean's lips with his own, opening his mouth over Dean's as if he could swallow him whole.

"Fuck, Sam!" Dean said, jerking back and pushing Sam away once more, horror clearly visible in his expressive eyes. Sam felt the blood drain from his face, and sat frozen as he watched Dean stand up and practically run toward the door. Dean reached for the handle before stopping himself. His breathing was heavy as he stared at the knob, his hand hovering above it, but not connecting.

"Shit!" he suddenly shouted as he slammed his fist into the door just above the handle. He then whirled around, slamming his back into the door as he cradled his now injured hand. "Fuck!" Dean swore as he looked up to face Sam. As they stared at each other, Dean's angry features softened. "Jesus, Sammy..." Dean said softly, his voice breaking on the last syllable. His pain and confusion were clear in his posture, on his face. Wearily, he ran his hand through his short hair as he stared at Sam, bringing his hand around to grip his jaw briefly before flinging it down. "Hell, Sammy, I should've... I just... I... I _really_ thought we had this thing beat..." Dean's voice was almost a whisper and filled with self-recrimination.

A moment of stillness followed the statement as they stared at each other. Sam couldn't move, couldn't think as he stared into his brother's scared, conflicted eyes.

A sense of energy, pressure, seemed to build in the room, slowly. Anticipation that _something_ was about to happen almost tangible in the air.

Overwhelming need suddenly filled Sam in a rush, almost crippling in its intensity. He tensed his muscles, prepared to get up, to move to Dean and to close the gap that separated them.

_He'd die if he didn't_.

He was sure of it, but... a small awareness remained that Dean wanted him to stay away. With a monumental effort of will, he forced himself to remain on the floor where he was.

Sam's heart was racing once more; it was going to beat right out of his chest. Pain started spinning through his body, moving from his chest out to his extremities in waves. He knew what was coming; he'd been through this before, and he braced himself for the agonizing spasms that would be striking any second.

His awareness narrowed to the demands of his body. He trained his eyes on the ugly pattern of the bedspread as he desperately sucked in steadying breaths to keep the pain away. He sensed Dean's presence before he felt the comforting pressure of arms circling around him and holding on tight. "Oh god, Sammy, I'm so sorry," he heard as lips pressed against his own.

He stiffened in response, trembling with the effort required to hold himself still. Dean's warm lips continued to press against the skin of Sam's face as Dean muttered apologies under his breath.

"Dean, no..." Sam managed to get out through clenched teeth. "I need..." He slipped a hand against Dean's chest but couldn't make himself push hard enough to move Dean away. "You... don't want..." Sam desperately tried to organize his thoughts, but everything was muddied by his overwhelming _need_ , leaving him confused, unable to figure out what he was trying to say.

Dean's voice continued to wash over him, eroding the tension that was holding his body almost rigid. "It's okay Sam," Dean whispered as he pressed another kiss to Sam's lips. "We'll be okay, I promise." He pressed more kisses across Sam's forehead and then trailed them back down to his lips once more. "You need this..." Sam felt the wet warmth of Dean's tongue slip across his lips, and with a groan he opened his mouth to let him in, "...and I need you to be alright... please..."

Sam couldn't think anymore, and he reached out to cup the sides of Dean's face in his hands as he let his tongue slowly explore his brother's sweet mouth, let himself soak up the exquisite taste. "Need you, Dean..." Sam pulled back slightly to whisper into Dean's mouth. He locked his eyes with Dean's, searching for anger or hatred, felt something ease in his chest when he didn't find it.

"I know, Sammy. I've got you..." Dean replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**  
_THEN..._   
**

****

_**Holy Shit, Sam's kissing me...** The thought kept repeating itself over and over in Dean's head as he desperately tried to wrestle down the laughter that kept threatening to bubble out of him. Not that he thought the situation particularly funny, but **hello** , kissing the brother. Officially in the realm of the absurd. Sam's tongue traced the inside of his mouth, tickling the roof of it and suddenly he was pulling back with a rude snort and a loud laugh. _

_"Dean?" Sammy's voice was small, lost. His eyes going full-on puppy dog with confusion and fear. His brother started to back away and Dean immediately grabbed him and pulled him back. They couldn't afford for Dean to fuck this up._

 _He put his hand on the base of Sam's head, pressing into his neck muscles to ease the tension. After a moment, he let go, cupping his hand around Sam's neck, pulling him back a bit closer. "I'm sorry, Sammy. Dammit, I can do this... I can, I just... Gimme a minute to get over the weird okay?"_

 _"Not weird. Need you..." Sam lunged forward and closed his mouth over Dean's lips like he was gonna eat them, and Dean jumped but managed not to jump **away** , so he figured he was doing okay._

 _Honestly, his brother wasn't half bad with the kissing, not that that was all that surprising or anything. They shared the same genes, and yeah, the chicks certainly seemed into it when he watched, but really, so not something he'd ever wanted to confirm personally._

 _Sam moved away from his lips and mouth and started licking his way down Dean's neck, which sent him right back into the **Sammy's kissing me!** loop. Dean felt his muscles tense and he had to fight against himself to keep from jerking out of his brother's grasp._

 _Sam whimpered and his hands started shaking as he gasped in pain, pulling away slightly as he put his hands to the sides of his forehead._

 _Shit, this thing kept getting worse so fast. He was starting to wonder if the kissing and jerk-off they'd planned would be enough. He grabbed Sam's face and pulled him back into a kiss, closing his eyes to keep a picture of Sam's grimace of pain in his head, knowing that would be enough to keep his hysterical laughter at bay._

 _The shaking eased and the pain noises faded back to little moans as the kissing became more reciprocal. Sam's hands moved down and grasped the edge of his t-shirt and began pulling up. Dean's pulse sped up in response, adrenaline urging him towards flight, since fighting wasn't an option. Dean made himself raise his arms and the thin protection of the shirt was gone._

 _A moment passed and Dean opened his eyes to find Sam gazing at him, somehow hungry and lost all at once. Sweat was beading on his forehead and he ran his hand over it. "Okay, okay. We can do this." Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled them up off the floor to kneel on the bed, a desperate move to delay the inevitable, before reaching out and pulling Sam's shirt up and off, exposing the still healing and angry cuts that littered Sam's chest and torso._

 _His breath caught, but he couldn't let himself dwell on that now. He tossed Sam's shirt to the side and pulled Sam close, so that they could wrap their arms around each other and press their naked chests together, hiding the marks from view. Sam's large hands began running up and down Dean's back, pulling them harder together, as if they could be pressed into the same space._

 _Okay, **so** not a good image - if Dean had been sporting wood that might have killed it. _

_Okay... okay, he could do this, just a little mutual masturbation right? He reached down into his shorts to grasp his flaccid dick in his hands and managed to brush Sam's on the way down... whoa, Sam did **not** seem to be sharing his problems. _

_He pushed his boxers down his legs and as his hand circled his dick, he felt Sam's hand curl over the top of his. Together they gave it a couple of hard pulls. Dean felt himself starting to fill with a grateful sigh of relief. The sooner they came the sooner this would all be over. He tried to ignore the little voice that said **for the moment...** _

_Their hands continued to move up and down on his slowly stiffening cock. Sam's cheek was pressed against Dean's and Sam's other hand was circling their bodies, pressing them together and rubbing up and down on the muscles of his back, over his ass and along his sides - it felt kinda good, but Dean couldn't quite make himself explore Sam's body with the same eagerness._

 _"Oh God, Sam..." the words slipped out, though he hadn't intended to speak. It was still weird, but somehow it didn't feel as wrong as he thought it would. Should._

 _Sam licked up the shell of Dean's ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue before letting it go. He breathed into Dean's ear and Dean found himself relaxing into the sensations of pleasure, of having Sam close, and safe._

 _He felt Sam's hand falter and Sam's breath hitched as he whispered into Dean's ear, "Need to... need to taste you, Dean..." Dean jerked back with the words, okay, **that** broke the Hallmark moment. _

_"You what?" Dean was pretty sure his last word ended in a squeak, but with the panic running through his veins, he didn't really have time to dwell on his suddenly prepubescent voice._

 _Sam tongued his way down Dean's torso, until his mouth was hovering over Dean's groin, and despite the cacophony of voices urging him to get the fuck out of the hotel room, Dean's dick was in no way losing interest. Okay, this was not the time to psychoanalyze how many different kinds of wrong this was. "Just do it, Sam," he muttered before his brain had time to reengage._

 _Sam pushed Dean back and closed his mouth over the tip of Dean's dick. Dean let out a groan as the wet warmth closed around him. Sam began licking his way down the shaft and the pleasure centers in Dean's head started going off, and so help him, this felt good. Dean wrapped his hands into the sheets, struggling not to give into the urge to thrust up into Sam's mouth. **Sam's...** Mouth. **Fuck.**_

 _ ****_

_Pleasure spiked again as Sam slipped further down his dick, taking more of him in, and Dean felt himself jerk upwards, his body's demands winning for the moment. Sam made a choking sound and released him, coughing painfully. Barely allowing himself enough time to recover, he plunged back down, a small needy sound escaping as he did._

 _Dean felt anger rushing in, overwhelming the pleasure. Not anger at Sam, never at Sam, but at the situation, and the dammed incubus who'd stolen his brother's choices away. He reached down, placed his hand on Sam's head and pushed him off. Their eyes met, Dean's angry ones to Sam's lust-blown ones. "Dean?" Sam questioned as he shut his eyes with a grimace of pain. **Shit. There were no choices.**_

 _  
****  
_

_He released Sam's head with a murmured, "Sorry, Sam, it's okay," and Sam didn't even hesitate before diving down to take Dean back into his mouth. Dean struggled to let the anger go, focusing on the sensations around his dick; allowing the pleasure to build, until coherent thought was difficult, and he found himself moving with his brother in an increasingly synchronized rhythm._

 _His brother picked up speed, moving up and down his cock, his large hands wrapped around the base where he couldn't reach with his mouth, his tongue swirling over the head each time he hit the top. Sam's large fingers began slowly caressing the base of Dean's dick, one hand slipping down to fondle his balls, gently squeezing while his mouth continued its rapid slide up and down. Sam let out a deep groan filled with need, sending vibrations traveling down his length, and suddenly the feelings were cascading over him with overwhelming intensity. The orgasm tingled over Dean's head and down his spine, ran up from his feet to meet at his center only to explode outward in a mind-shattering rush._

 _Sam didn't move away, continuing to suck and lick around him until the sensations were just too much and he was pulling away, pushing at Sam until Sam fell back on the bed next to Dean._

 _Tension left his body along with the orgasm and he felt himself relax back into the bedding, his limbs boneless. An unnatural stupor filled him, just like it had when he'd helped Sam with the prostitutes. Or maybe it was a little worse. Whatever. It was quickly becoming a struggle to keep his eyes open._

 _Sam gave a contented sigh next to him and Dean looked over, noting the wet stain on the front of Sam's boxers. He hadn't even touched him. His own boxers were still tangled around his legs and he kicked them off as Sam curled into Dean's side. Catastrophe averted, for now._

 _Sam burrowed closer and wrapped his arm around Dean, and that, well, cuddling with his brother wasn't something he'd done since he was five, but it seemed silly to protest such a small thing after what had just happened. And, he had to admit, it felt good. And this.... thing between them was all kinds of fucked. But this, right now? It felt right. Sleep claimed him before he could think more deeply about it._


	3. Chapter 3

Dean continued to talk to Sam, saying anything that came to mind, but keeping his voice soothing, like he'd talk to a frightened animal. Of course, the weird of trying to talk his brother into having _sex_ with him was not lost on Dean, but he was more than a little worried that Sam would try to bolt, and considering how bad this thing seemed to be hitting this time, there was no way he was gonna let that happen.

He couldn't believe how fucking _stupid_ he'd been to think they'd beaten this bitch.

Some of the tension seemed to be leaving Sammy, and he continued on. "It's okay Sam," he whispered as he pressed another kiss to Sam's lips. "We'll be okay, I promise." He pressed more kisses across Sam's forehead and then trailed them back down to Sammy's lips once more. "You need this..." Dean desperately tried to imagine he was with just another conquest as he slipped his tongue across Sam's lips, and finally, finally Sammy opened his mouth and let him in with a groan.

"...and I need you to be alright... please..." Dean murmured as Sam cupped the sides of Dean's face in his hands and slowly explored his mouth with his tongue.

"Need you, Dean..." Sam pulled back slightly to whisper into Dean's mouth.

"I know, Sammy. I've got you..." Dean replied, quite pleased that he managed to keep any sense of panic out of his voice. He could do another blow job, the last one hadn't even been that bad. _Fucking amazing_ , a small, evil voice whispered in his head. Yeah, _whatever_ , he brushed the thought away and grabbed Sam's hand, lowering it to his groin. The quicker they did this, the quicker it'd be over. He'd got through it the last time and he'd do it again.

Sam let out a small groan in the back of his throat, his attention fixed on their hands as Dean moved them over his boxers to touch his dick through the cloth. Whatever strength Sam was finding to hold himself back seemed to evaporate, and Sam jerked his hand away from Dean's grip and pulled Dean's boxers down roughly. He pushed Dean backwards and enveloped Dean's dick with his mouth before Dean could even register what was happening. Tiny, happy sounds issued from the back of Sam's throat as he hungrily lavished Dean's dick with attention. Dean was overcome with the sensation of Sam's wet warmth wrapping around him, for a bare moment forgetting that this was his brother. But it was only a moment, and words of condemnation kept intruding in his brain like a mantra:

 _Wrong... Forbidden... Twisted... Sick... Perverse..._

 __

He had to cut off this train of thought; Sammy needed him present. Grasping at straws, he tried to focus on the hot blond he'd picked up at a bar a few towns back, hoping it would help. She'd been good. Talented even. _Not as good as this._ A short laugh bubbled out as that thought leaked by, but instead of correcting it, he just went with it. Allowing the sensations to build, pleasure lapping at the edges of his mind, threatening to make any more useless thoughts impossible.

"Dean," Sam moaned around him, and Dean's eyes snapped open to look into Sam's eyes as he pulled off of Dean's cock, the wet release of the suction causing Dean to inhale sharply as he blanked out briefly. He heard Sam muttering something and struggled to clear his vision and come back to his senses so he could figure out what his brother was saying. Whatever Sam had mumbled, he only heard the tail end of it, "... enough Dean."

"What?" Dean said intelligently as Sam pulled Dean's shirt off roughly and Dean realized they were both naked now - the thin protection of clothing gone without him even really realizing it. Sam grabbed his legs, pushing his knees back toward his head. Sam dropped his head down out of sight and before Dean could make sense of Sam's actions, he felt the warm swipe of Sam's tongue running across his crack.

With a startled yelp, Dean tried to buck up, but his brother managed to hold his legs down, moving with Dean as he struggled, pressing his face into...

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean yelled out as he continued to try to move out of his brother's grasp.

Sam's hands convulsed tightly enough to leave bruises where he gripped Dean's legs. "Please, Dean. Need this," Sam croaked out, his voice shaky, trembling and filled with pain.

Sam's voice crept through Dean's panic, shattering his heart into a million pieces. For Sam, he could do this. "Tell me what you need, Sammy," he managed to choke out.

Sam just continued to stare at him, his eyes lust-blown and clouded, his breathing hard and strained. Slowly, he bent over and laid a wet kiss on Dean's lips, and Dean felt momentarily disgusted by the fact that those lips had just been pushed into his _ass_. His brother's pain-filled whimper kept him from pulling away, and he allowed Sam to continue running his tongue over the curve of his lips and then lick down Dean's chin and neck. Thank God he'd taken a shower last night right before going to bed.

Slowly, he ran his tongue over Dean's chest, lavishing attention on his pecs before sinking down lower, plunging his tongue into Dean's belly button and sucking the surrounding skin into his mouth.

Dean found himself relaxing into the sensations, letting them rule his awareness for now. Sam played with the skin of his stomach for a while, teasingly staying just out of reach of his dick, making him yearn for the touch. "God, Sam, please..." Dean found himself pleading.

Sam... _growled_ in response, the low sound vibrating straight to Dean's center, and Dean arched his body up, looking for contact, for friction, for touch. Sam moved back down, grabbing Dean's legs, which he had relaxed down, and pushing them back into position. Sam let them go, but when Dean started to put them down again, Sam grabbed onto them and pushed them back with another growl, a look of anger crossing briefly over his features before shifting back into fascinated lust.

Breathing heavily with a mixture of arousal and panic, Dean grabbed his own legs to hold them in place. Sam dropped another kiss on his lips, before slipping back down to grip the cheeks of his ass and move them apart. Dean gasped as the tongue moved back, moving over his hole, wet and sensuous, slipping over him and causing tingles of pleasure to radiate from the center. Dean groaned at the new and, unexpectedly, not unpleasant sensation, and he felt Sam smile against him as his brother continued to worship his ass.

Sam's tongue unexpectedly pushed against his hole, slipping past the outer ring of muscle, causing a startled, "Shit!" to push past Dean's lips. Sam continued pressing in and out while Dean frantically tried to calm the panic that kept slowly building, that was gonna have him bolting out the door eventually, if he didn't find a way to contain it.

His breaths were coming out in short rapid pants and Dean prayed he wasn't gonna hyperventilate and pass out like a girl. Finally, he felt Sam's mouth move away and that helped a little, but after far too little time, Dean felt Sam's finger replace it and push in.

Damn, that burned! "Shit, Sammy!" Dean yelled, flinching back. Sam looked up at him in alarm. "Pretty sure you're supposed to use lube when you do that!" Dean swung his leg over his brother and rolled off the bed, landing with a thump.

With a groan, Sam followed him, swung around on the bed and grabbed onto Dean's shoulder with a vice-like grip. He pulled Dean back around, cupping his hand around Dean's neck; pulling him in so that Dean's forehead rested against his, staring into Dean's eyes. Sam's eyes were huge and a little vacant as he opened his mouth, struggling to form a coherent thought. "Love you, Dean..." he finally whispered. He pulled his shaking hand away from Dean's neck and moved so that his fingers hovered over Dean's lips, not quite touching.

Dean caught the hand in his own and pressed his lips to Sam's fingers. "I know ya do, Sammy... I... love you too." Dean felt his cheeks heating at the admission, which was pretty lame, considering. "Just, gimme a sec. Stay there." Dean quickly stood and took a frantic look around the room. This'd be okay. Gay guys did this all the time, so it must feel good, right?

Yeah, he was hyperventilating again. He didn't have any lube, didn't usually need it, and when you live in your brother's back pocket stuff like that's just, you know, awkward. 'Sides, he was a simple guy with simple tastes and it's not like he ever had any trouble turning the girls on. He dashed into the bathroom, knowing his brother wasn't going to be able to wait long, and looked around.

Soap? That'd probably sting, he thought with a grimace. Lotion? He ran his gaze over the counter, but there was nothing. Hardly surprising. Places they stayed rarely provided anything extra. Shampoo? Again, ouch. Wait, gun oil? Might work. Why not? Shit, he had no idea if shoving gun oil up your ass was a bad idea or not. Well, of course it was a bad idea, that was just the wrong way for anything to be moving in your ass. He sighed in frustration; there was no time to contemplate this and there were really no better ideas forthcoming anyway. It's not like he was gonna leave Sam here to suffer while he went to the store.

He braced himself against the counter, and turned on the water, splashing a little on his face and then running his wet hands through his hair. Could he really go through with this? Let his _brother_ fuck him up the ass? He'd somehow never imagined it could go this far, although now that assumption seemed pretty stupid and shortsighted. He stared at his reflection, the water dripping down his face and off his chin.

This could wreck his relationship with Sam. This could wreck _Sam_. And that would kill him.

But he didn't have another solution. And Sammy needed him... Right. Gun oil. He pushed away from the counter forcefully and moved back into the room. Shit, Sammy'd already collapsed in on himself, holding his head and rocking back and forth. This was so much worse than before. Before, they'd had time to plan, to strategize before it got bad. Time to try other options before it got so bad Dean worried for Sam's health and sanity. The hand job, which admittedly had turned into a blow job, had still been a deliberate decision.

This time there was no time for discussion, no time to think, really, but at least Dean knew what he needed to do, knew he had to give Sam whatever he needed. Dean dove for the bags, frantically pulling out weapons before snagging the small bottle and moving to the bed.

Dean grabbed onto Sam's arms, "I'm here, Sammy. I'm so sorry." He shook his head, annoyed with himself. He was apologizing a lot, but it sure as shit wasn't helping. He vowed to stop it as Sam looked up and lunged for Dean's lips, apparently trying to inhale Dean's whole face. Dean moved back onto the bed and Sam grabbed him, pushing him onto his back once more. Dean pulled his legs up and grabbed his brother's hand, struggling to quickly open the damn bottle and pour some of the oil onto his brother's hand. It spilled all over the bed as he smoothed it over Sam's fingers, making a mess. Oh, well, that was the least of his worries.

Sam licked his way down Dean's torso, pausing to lavish attention over Dean's dick, which was a good thing since his mad search for lube had apparently caused his interest in the proceedings to wane. He moaned in pleasure, his dick starting to come to attention again, when he felt one of Sam's fingers breech his ass once more.

"Fuck!" he yelled out. That fucking hurt. Desperately, he tried to relax, instinctively knowing that tensing up couldn't possibly be helping. Sam whimpered, the sound filled with need and confusion. "It's okay, Sammy," he muttered, trying to reassure himself as much as his brother.

The oil seemed to be helping a little, he thought hopefully. Sam moved the finger out and back in a few times and it seemed to get a little easier, but way before he was ready, Sam added a second finger, running his tongue over the outside of his ass as he did. Shit. He gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the pain. He could do this. Had to do this. For Sam.

Sam continued moving his fingers in and out, licking and sucking at the surrounding skin as he did. Sam's tongue moved between his ass and his balls, sending warm tingling sensations through him, and that helped to distract from the pain a little. Dean wasn't really sure what gun oil tasted like, but it didn't seem to be bothering Sam. Shit, was it poisonous? It had never occurred to him to eat the stuff, so he didn't really know. The thought deserted him when Sam added yet another finger, and _god damn it_ , this just felt wrong. Why would anyone do this voluntarily?

He felt Sam pause and moan, his hand still inside of Dean as he bent his head down to rest against Dean's stomach. "Sorry..." the hoarse, pain-filled whisper hit his ears. Now Sam was doing it, and it definitely wasn't _his_ fault. No way he was going to put this on his brother.

"No, Sam, it's okay," he rasped out. "Just keep going." Sam looked up and met Dean's eyes. Confusion and fear swam in his gaze, but it didn't last long, and his awareness quickly slipped away again.

"Need..." Sam whimpered and pulled his fingers out. Relief flooded Dean, he couldn't help it. Sam moved back down and licked around Dean's opening, soothing the burn a little, at least on the outside. Sam roamed over Dean's skin, moving to his balls and sucking one of them into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue and then paying similar attention to the other one. Dean moaned approvingly as Sam let them go and moved slowly back up his chest, latching onto his mouth once more. An unexpected nudging against his hole made him jerk in surprise. "Wait. Sam, wait," Dean said, his voice barely below a yell.

Sam hesitated and pulled back a little, staring at him in apparent fascination. Dean pulled Sam's face close and kissed him lightly on the lips, and then looked around for the bottle of oil. He was a little relieved to see he'd somehow managed to leave it upright on the nightstand. He picked it up with shaking hands and sat up a little, his legs on either side of Sam's body. He reached for his brother's rigid cock and poured some of the oil on it, massaging it in.

Sam moaned in pleasure, dropping his head down to nuzzle against Dean's neck, sucking strongly enough to pull the skin into his mouth. God, that felt good. He poured a little more on for good measure, and then pushed Sam off his neck. He leaned back again and pulled his legs back up. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was next. "Okay, Sammy," he said.

Sam wasted no time laying himself between Dean's legs and pushing at Dean's hole with his dick. He kept pushing as Dean tried to keep himself from tensing up, and then abruptly he was sliding in. "Dean," Sam groaned as Dean struggled to keep his breathing under control, the pain filling his awareness.

"Shit, shit, shit..." he mumbled under his breath, praying his brother got this over with quickly. Sam was kissing him again and he realized that Sam had stopped only part of the way in. Sam's eyes were filled with concern, little pained whimpering sounds coming from the back of his throat as he pressed little kisses over Dean's face, although Dean was sure there still wasn't a whole lot of comprehension happening.

Sam remained still inside him and Dean thought maybe he was starting to adjust to the presence when Sam buried his face in Dean's neck and moved out a little and then back in. Dean moaned incoherently, breathing heavily to distance himself from what was happening. Sam's balls were pressing against his ass. Somehow he was all the way in. Sam pulled back to look into Dean's eyes as he began undulating in and out, a look of intense pleasure marking his features.

Sam wrapped his still slicked fingers around Dean's dick and despite the pain, it took considerable interest, hardening almost to the point of hurting. The distraction helped Dean to finally relax the muscles in his ass a bit and the burning eased off in direct response.

God, now that he was adjusting to it a little, the sensation was a curious mixture of pleasure and pain. There was a spot that Sam seemed to hit every time he pushed in that ratcheted up the pleasure just little more each time, and Dean had never felt anything like it, but it felt _good_. Dean let himself begin moving together with Sam, matching thrust for thrust.

Sam kept his hand wrapped around Dean's dick and every thrust moved him through Sam's fist, building the pleasure to fucking unbelievable heights. And then with a rush, Dean was coming, erupting through Sam's fist. His spasms of pleasure seemed to spark his brother as well, and he could feel a rush of fullness as Sam filled him before pulling out and moving down to lick over Dean's dick as he had those months before, not relaxing until Dean was clean.

Dean rapidly found himself coming down from his high. His energy left him in a rush, and he whispered Sam's name, struggling to keep his eyes open long enough to make sure his brother was okay. "Sam," he croaked out through his exhaustion.

He blinked heavily, his body leaden as Sam replied, "Right here, Dean."

"You... 'k?" Dean slurred, but he couldn't concentrate enough to hear Sam's response, only managed to roll into his brother's arms and promptly pass out.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam shook as he clung to his unconscious brother. Dean had remained unresponsive, even after Sam had gently nudged him and called his name. This deep sleep wasn't natural, not for Dean, but Sam's mind was still cloudy, and the thought filled him more with a vague unease than full-out alarm.

He felt like he was on a serious caffeine high, a dozen cups of coffee on an empty stomach kind of high, complete with tremors and a racing heartbeat. Energy roared through his veins, making him feel nauseous. Reluctantly, he unwrapped himself from around Dean's body and rolled out of the bed before bolting to the bathroom.

Sam didn't even have time to look at the toilet before losing the remains of last night's pizza into the bowl. Thank God the lid had been up. He retched for a while, his stomach clenching around nothing, his body clearly determined to rid itself of... something. Sam didn't know what, but he felt... wrong, filled to the brim with something... tainted... and he desperately needed to get it out. He hovered over the toilet for several minutes after the dry heaves had finally stopped before he thought it was safe to wipe his mouth and stand up.

Throwing up hadn't helped at all; the energy still rode him, leaving him trembling and unsteady on his feet and his body still felt like it didn't belong to him. He flushed and turned the water on, splashing it on his face and into his mouth. He turned around, still dripping, and leaned back against the counter, wrapping his arms around himself. The tremors were making him want to crawl out of his skin. Dizziness washed over him and the shaking was getting so bad, it was making rational thought difficult. He slid down the wall, losing himself for a time, wrapped in unformed misery.

Eventually, coherent thoughts started slipping through his mind again. He was cold. And naked. Why the fuck was he naked? He pushed himself up off the floor and moved back into the room to get clothes. His breath caught in his chest when he saw Dean laid out on the bed. "No," he whispered as disjointed images of his brother and _sex_ came flooding back to him.

 _His lips pressing against Dean's. His mouth wrapping around Dean's cock. Pushing himself into his brother's body while biting the skin of Dean's chest, a desperate attempt to merge his brother's body with his own..._

 __

His legs suddenly gave out on him and he fell to his hands and knees with a solid thud. God, what the hell had he done?

He remained on his hands and knees on the floor for several minutes, his heart beating so fast it would have to give out soon. His sides were heaving and he was trying frantically to suck in courage through the air. Gradually, he forced himself to crawl forward. When he reached the edge of the bed, he stopped, imagining Dean's features filled with pain, or fear, or... betrayal. With Herculean effort he forced himself to rise to his knees.

Dean looked... well, he looked like he always did when he was sleeping. Normal. Peaceful even. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He needed to get a grip.

Carefully, he reached out a trembling hand and brushed a finger over Dean's cheek. Dean didn't stir, he didn't even twitch, and the unease from before came back in a rush. Had he hurt him? Sam pushed Dean onto his back and began running his hands over his brother's body, looking for any signs of injury, but found only scattered, small bruises and red marks that might have been caused by rough grips, or teeth, or lips. Sam felt blood rush to his cheeks as he noticed the dried white streaks that marked his brother's groin and abdomen.

Hastily, Sam rolled Dean onto his stomach so he wouldn't have to look at the guilty reminder anymore, and continued his inventory of injuries, starting at the top of Dean's back. More fingertip-sized bruises and a few long, red scratch marks, a couple of bite marks, one that even broke the skin a little, but again, he didn't find anything too serious. He continued down until he reached Dean's ass and froze. Come still glistened along his crack in the dim light, more of it drying along his ass and legs. Sam reached out and gently spread Dean's cheeks apart as more images pushed their way back into his head. Dean was red and inflamed, and something that looked a whole lot like blood was mixed into the come that was still oozing out slightly.

 _He'd fucked his brother._

 __

He jerked his hands away from Dean and froze. His breath caught and his heart skipped a beat, causing pain to radiate through his chest. A moment later his breath came back in a rush. It didn't look like he'd seriously injured Dean but... Sam quickly rolled himself off the bed and away from Dean, moving until his back hit the wall.

Shit... shit... what the hell had he become that he needed... this? Sure, Dean hadn't fought him; Sam didn't have a mark on him, and he would've if... but... Dean hadn't wanted to have sex with him; Sam knew that in his bones. And if he hadn't wanted this then that was... it was rape, right?

Sam ached to run out of the motel room, to run out and never come back.

But Dean wasn't waking up. He couldn't leave now. Couldn't leave Dean defenseless. Couldn't leave without being sure Dean was okay. And a small, rational voice in his mind whispered that leaving without saying anything would break Dean worse than the physical violation that had already occurred... unless, his traitorous mind countered, Dean never wanted to look at him again.

But he couldn't just take off this time. He'd hurt Dean. He didn't get to make this about him. Dean would have to be the one to call the shots. But... how the hell could he stay, knowing that this could happen again?

Overwhelmed, Sam slowly stood and moved to the counter where he'd left his phone. Before he'd really processed what he was doing it was pressed to his ear, and he was listening to it ring.

"'Lo," Sam's throat tightened as he heard Bobby's voice. He couldn't force a reply out as he stood there struggling not to just hang up. After a moment, Bobby's voice demanded a little more forcefully, "Is somebody there?"

He heard a frustrated huff on the other end of the line, and managed to get out, "Hey, Bobby."

"Sam... that you?"

Sam coughed, trying to clear the ache out of his throat as he moved to the other bed, sitting on the edge so he could watch his brother sleep. "Yeah, Bobby, it's me," he said quietly as he reached out and gently laid the sheet over Dean, covering up the traces of what he had done. Dean didn't even twitch.

Concern tinged Bobby's voice, "What's wrong, son?"

"I..." Sam began, wondering how the hell he could confess to _Bobby_ just what he'd done. But they needed Bobby's help. "I... it's... back," he managed to choke out.

"What's back, Sam?" Bobby's voice was low and cautious.

"Bobby..." Sam whispered, tears burning at the backs of his eyes, threatening to spill over. He sat there, unable to say more, gritting his teeth in an effort to keep back the traitorous tears. His thoughts spun off a dozen different ways, none of them coherent. He _looked up_ to Bobby, in some ways he connected more with him than with his own father, and Bobby would never be able to forgive him for this. Dean maybe, but not Sam.

"Is it the curse, Sam?" Bobby pressed. "Sam, tell me what happened."

A tear slipped down Sam's face... and then another, threatening to destroy what little remained of his composure. It was more than a fear of losing the respect of a man he admired and even loved; telling Bobby, saying it out loud, would somehow make this all real. Which was stupid - this was as real as it got. The tears were slipping freely down his face now, little trails of betrayal.

"Come on Sam, talk to me. Either that, or put your brother on the phone."

Sam stilled, Dean's still body laid out accusingly in front of him. He managed to dredge up the strength to speak. "Dean's unconscious," Sam admitted. "I can't wake him up... whatever I did..."

"Shit," Bobby growled. "You gotta focus, Kid. When did it come back?"

"Last night," Sam admitted with a shudder.

"It come on sudden-like or more gradual?" Bobby paused, waiting for Sam to respond. When he didn't say anything Bobby prompted, "How bad is it, Sam?"

"I ra..." Sam couldn't get the word out. "I... um... it's bad, Bobby. Really bad. Worse than before. I don't... I don't remember much." It wasn't quite a lie.

"Jesus, kid," Bobby said slowly. "That ritual shoulda worked. Seemed like it did work. Unless..."

"It did work, Bobby," Sam interrupted. "I was fine for over four months. We just have to do it again, right? We can, we can just do it every so often, like a preventative?"

"Wait, Sam, slow down," Bobby jumped in when Sam took a breath. "I don't think that's a good idea. This thing we're dealing with might not even _be_ an incubus."

There was a moment of silence as Sam scrambled to process what Bobby had just said. Of course the thing had been an incubus, it fed on sex, what else could it be? His pulse picked up, heightening the uncomfortable sensation of his shaking. His response, when he managed to get it out, came out strangled and cold, "What?"

"Sam, if it was an incubus, the ritual would've worked..."

"It did work."

"No, it didn't. It came back. Worse than before, you said."

Sam tensed, wondering if Bobby was gonna ask exactly _how much worse?_ But the accusing words didn't come.

After a short pause, Bobby continued on, "The texts were very clear: if it was an incubus it'd be done and over with. We missed somethin'. We can't mess with that ritual again until we know what we're dealing with."

"But, Bobby..."

"No, Sam. You said it's worse now than it was before. Now there's no tellin' what damage doing that ritual again might cause. Not 'til we know what we're dealin' with." Bobby's tone booked no argument.

Bobby didn't, _couldn't_ understand. It had to work, Dean couldn't take... this. "Bobby, at least it'd give us a little time - we could find out something else in the meantime. We just stopped looking before. We'll find something else; we just gotta have something to get us through until then."

"And if we don't find anything?" Bobby asked dryly.

"That's not an option," he bit back.

"Reality check, Sam. You're smarter than this. The creature is five months dead and burned, and all we know is what it probably _isn't_. That, and your symptoms. That's not much to go on. Not like you to wanna go off all half-cocked."

 _His symptoms_ , which Bobby didn't even know the half of. Acid guilt burned in his stomach over his failure to tell Bobby everything. "Bobby, it's all we got," Sam pleaded. "I've gotta do somethin' to try to make this right. To fix this."

"Sam, you aren't the only one involved in this ritual. You do it again without knowin' what the hell you're doing and it could backfire on Dean. You wanna risk your brother like that?"

Fear cut through Sam's heart at the thought that he could hurt his brother worse than he already had. The fucking tears had stopped, but he was in more pieces than he'd been in before he'd picked up the phone. "No," Sam whispered.

"What was that?"

Anger and bitterness caused him to snap, "I said _no, Sir._ " The anger drained out of him as fast as it had arrived.

"Good. Glad we're in agreement," sarcasm colored Bobby's words. "You watch out over your brother. He doesn't wake up in a couple hours, you call me back and we'll refigure, but this made him tired the last time too, so just give him some time. Once he's conscious, you head here. Meantime, I'll hit the books."

"Alright, Bobby..." Sam heard the abrupt click of a dead line in response, and he wearily dropped his phone to the bed. He couldn't imagine trying to deal with all this in front of Bobby, but right now he couldn't think of a reasonable excuse not to go, either. And even though a large part of him wanted to just give up, Dean needed him to keep trying.

He was completely wrung out and exhausted, as much by the emotional turmoil as by the unnatural energy that still coursed through his veins, leaving him feeling sick and shaky. He barely had the energy to move much less remain upright. He didn't think, couldn't think about it anymore, just silently moved to sit by his brother on the other bed.

He reached out a hand and smoothed a finger over his brother's cheek. Dean shifted into the movement a little, but showed no other signs of coming awake. Dean's skin felt soft and warm. Sam's shakiness seemed to dissipate as he stroked over it, fascinated by the contrast between the smooth skin of Dean's cheekbone and the rough stubble on his jaw.

Sam snorted. He was still naked. He'd been so wrapped up in his conversation with Bobby that he'd forgotten, but somehow, sitting here with his hand on Dean's face, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He lifted the sheet and lay down next to Dean, pulling him onto his side and curling his own body protectively around his brother before bringing the sheet back over them both. He reached around and rested his hand flat against Dean's chest, letting the pulse of his brother's heartbeat reassure him. Nothing had ever felt so good and right.

Had he always had these desires, and just repressed them? Sam wasn't sure. Being wrapped around his brother felt so natural, he couldn't really remember what it was like _not_ to need this. He pressed a kiss against the back of Dean's neck, and Dean muttered something unintelligible and pressed back against him in his sleep.

Sam clung to his brother and waited for him to wake up.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd lain down next to Dean - at least a couple of hours, probably. Dean'd shifted onto his stomach a while ago and Sam had let him, just as happy to cradle his head in his hand and watch Dean sleep. Dean's arms were wrapped tightly around the pillow, his head to the side. A smile ghosted over Sam's lips as a bit of drool gathered at the edge of Dean's open mouth, threatening to spill over.

Sam's hand traced idle circles on Dean's back, slipping gently over solid muscles and old scars. He couldn't seem to stop the soothing motions, even though Dean remained completely oblivious to them. Sam's leg was wrapped around Dean's and his spent cock was pressed into Dean's hip, Sam's chest rested against Dean's torso, and he couldn't help having a certain feeling of contentment.

He determinedly pushed back the feeling of dread that had plagued him earlier. Dean would wake up eventually and destroy this calm, but for now, Sam needed this, and he selfishly indulged himself.

Sam pressed a light kiss onto Dean's shoulder blade before cradling his head on his elbow, his other hand continuing the gentle movements over Dean's back. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of closeness to his brother. He'd denied it even to himself, but he had to admit now, this need to be close to Dean had never really gone away, even though he'd been able to resist the pull.

A low, almost inaudible moan of pleasure issued from Dean, startling Sam. He immediately stilled his hand, pressing it light and flat over Dean's back, as Dean finally seemed to be waking up. Sam felt Dean stiffen under his hand as Dean made his way back to awareness, and he carefully lifted his hand and disengaged his leg from Dean's. Sam's heart was in his throat as they lay close together, and several moments passed in tense silence.

And then Dean rolled over, away from Sam, a groan of pain immediately escaping his mouth as he did. "Ow! Fuck, I'm sore," Dean complained as he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Gingerly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, continuing to groan piteously.

Sam stared at Dean's back, at a loss for what to say or do, before he decided to follow Dean's movement and sit up as well. "Dean..." he finally forced out past a very dry throat.

His brother interrupted, "Gotta hit the head, Sammy." Dean stood up and hobbled to the bathroom as Sam watched helplessly. The bathroom door swung shut with an air of finality. Sam winced, trying to decide if he should follow after or let Dean have some space. He heard the shower turn on, and he was almost overcome with a desire to join him. It didn't sound like Dean had engaged the lock. He groaned and lay back, opting for giving space. Dean didn't need him barging in there with a hard-on.

 _Shit_. He tensed up, wondering if the lust was going to overwhelm him again, but when he was able to remain lying on the bed after a few minutes, he allowed himself to relax again. Dean was too far away, Sam wanted him close, but he was still himself and he had the power to resist his need.

He could hear the water stream being interrupted; Dean was definitely in the shower, not just letting it run to cover up other noises. Or sitting on the floor under the stream like some clichéd rape victim on TV. Not that Dean was at all likely to act that way, but Sam couldn't really figure out what to expect from Dean, and the not knowing was making him nuts.

No, that wasn't really true. He did know how Dean was reacting. He was ignoring it. Just like he always ignored the important stuff. And he'd keep ignoring it until it happened again, and eventually they would both shatter from the denial and suppression. Sam couldn't let Dean sacrifice himself like this. They had to talk about it, even though a very large part of him thought that _this time_ , Dean had a really good plan for dealing.

A shower sounded really good, but Dean had gotten there first and he didn't think they needed to talk about what was going on with him in the nude, so he dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a clean pair of boxers, jeans, and an old t-shirt.

He cast a sidelong look at the bags and pulled out the medical bag. They kept a bottle of Jack in there for emergencies. Sam pulled it out and took a swig, not caring that it was still morning, or that he hadn't eaten since last night. He needed a little good 'ole liquid courage. He brought the bottle back to his lips and took another long pull, grimacing at the bitter taste, and then walked with it over to the window, parting the curtain to look out. It was dusty and grey out, which kinda fit his mood, and he took another swallow.

He needed some air. Slipping on some shoes and grabbing the keys off the table, he walked out of the room, bring the bottle with him. He wandered the parking lot aimlessly and finally wound up just sitting on the hood of the Impala, watching the motel room door. He sat there for a while, taking small sips and letting the booze relax him, before finally deciding Dean had to be out of the shower.

He hopped off the hood of Dean's car and was surprised when he staggered a bit before getting his footing. Shaking his head at himself he made it to the door and went back in. The shower was still going.

 _What the fuck?_

 __

If Dean didn't want him to stay, then he needed to come out and tell him like a man. He took another drink and strode to the bathroom door, pounding on it with his fist. "Dean?" he yelled, "Come on out of there." A few seconds passed and there was no response, so he pounded on the door again. "Dean!"

The water turned off, but Sam continued pounding on the door, determined that Dean wasn't going to put him off anymore.

Finally, the door swung open. "What the hell, Sam?" Dean said angrily. He was dripping wet, a towel wrapped hastily around his waist. _He_ _was gorgeous._ Sam stumbled back, hit a chair with the back of his knees and clumsily fell back into it. He took another swig of Jack to have an excuse not to look at his brother, and then the bottle was ripped out of his hand. "Jeezus, Sammy," Dean said, his anger quickly changing to something else. "What the hell are you thinking?" He looked at the bottle and shook his head at it, then took a swig of his own before capping it and putting it away.

"I should leave, Dean." Sam muttered. "Go to Bobby's on my own. Try to find a way to fix this."

Dean walked over to stand in front of him, a funny look on his face. "You wanna talk to Bobby about this?"

"I..." Shit, he hadn't even thought about whether or not Dean would want Bobby involved this time. Sam hadn't thought he could blush any harder, but he suspected his red intensified. "I already called him Dean."

Dean took a step away from him to sit heavily on the bed. "Shit, Sammy," Dean's eyes were riveted on the towel that covered his legs. "You shoulda talked to me first."

"Dean," Sam said, raising his hands from his sides for emphasis, "you were unconscious! What was I s'pposed to do? He already knew about the... the incubus from before." Sam slumped a little further down in the chair, "'Sides, I didn' tell 'm what happened lass night." The alcohol was hitting him hard, making speech a little difficult, and the room was starting to spin a little. He tried to remember how much he'd drank, and couldn't.

"Well, you aren't going to Bobby's without me."

Sam lurched out of the chair and moved to stand in front of Dean. He put his hands heavily on Dean's shoulders and Dean finally looked him in the face. Dean's skin was warm and moist from the shower and he smelled like soap, and whatever he'd been about to say flew completely out of his head. Sam brought his face down so that he was only a couple of inches away from Dean's. "Dean, you, fuck... you need to put some clothes on!"

Dean went about five shades of red as Sam pushed away from him and collapsed back in his chair.

"Sam," Dean began hesitantly, "do you need..." Sam watched as Dean ran his hands nervously against the towel. "I mean..." Dean slowly stood and moved over to Sam and crouched down.

Sam closed his eyes, emotions and thoughts crowding together and preventing anything coherent from coming out. Dean would sit here and just sacrifice himself like he didn't matter, and pretty soon Sam would let him. He needed to get out of here. "No, Dean, I don't _need_... just, leave me alone, okay?" Dean flinched back as Sam stood, and Sam felt it like a physical blow. He couldn't deal with this anymore. He strode out of the hotel room and slammed the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as Sam stormed out of the room, the door banging shut behind him. "Shit!" Dean swore as he followed Sam out the door, forgetting for the moment how he was dressed, or... not dressed. Sam was running down the street, and Dean took a few strides away from the door before his feet started to complain loudly about the broken bits of glass, old bottle caps and other assorted crap strewn across the dirty parking lot. Dean paused and looked in the direction Sam had run off, only to notice a mother with her young daughter looking at him in outraged horror.

"Sorry, ma'am!" he said with a faked smile. He grabbed his towel, which was beginning to slip, and backed up towards his hotel door, then breathed a quick sigh of relief when he found it hadn't closed when he'd run out. 'Cause that really would've fit with the way his day was going.

Why the fuck had Sam run off?

Dean slammed the door behind him in an unconscious imitation of his brother's exit. He angrily started throwing his clothes on, trying to decide if it would be better to go off looking for Sam or wait here for him to return. He looked in his pocket for his keys but they weren't there, and then looked at the table where he'd likely thrown them - not there either. Well, God dammed _fuck_ , Sam must've taken his car keys.

He sat down heavily on the bed. He'd never find Sam on foot if Sam didn't want him to. He was sore, and Sam had a fucking head start, and longer legs. He knew he'd blown it. He should've had the damned emo talk with Sam as soon as he'd woken up. But he really didn't want or need to talk about this. What the hell was there to say anyway? They'd done what had to be done.

He closed his eyes and sighed. _Sammy would still need to talk about it._ He'd fucked up big time.

And, _shit_ , he thought, another thought striking him, Sam'd gone and called Bobby. He was fine with what they'd done, _he was_ , but they didn't need Bobby in their fucking business; he didn't need Bobby to see his screw-up. The thought made him nauseous and he forced it away.

Sam had mentioned going to Bobby without him, but he wouldn't be stupid enough to just take off on his own _now_ , would he? God, he'd kill him if he took off with the only set of keys to the Impala and forced him to hot-wire her. Absolutely kill him. Surely Sam had learned his lesson by now about running off without him - things never went well when he did that. Demons or the demon-touched or burning girlfriends, which, yeah, demon again, the things always seemed to find Sam when Dean wasn't around to watch out over him.

Dean stood up and walked outside, leaving the door to the room slightly open, since Sam had that key too. He sat down with a groan on the trunk of the Impala. He'd wait. Give him some time to sort his head out. He owed Sam that much.

~o0O0o~

Several hours later Dean was nervously switching between sitting on the hood of his baby and pacing back and forth in front of it. It had finally dawned on him to try Sam's cell a while ago, but the phone was one of the few fucking things Sam hadn't managed to take with him. _What if he **had** taken off?_ Shit. And Dean'd just sat here doing nothing like a jackass.

He strode back into the motel room and started packing up their stuff. He stopped abruptly when he saw the gun oil on the nightstand next to the bed. He picked it up and shook his head at how much was used. He must've wasted quite a bit on the mattress. He felt his face burning as he realized he'd need to stop by a drugstore to get the real stuff. Just in case they had to fuck again. Jesus. He found the cap, which had rolled under the bed, and threw the bottle back in the weapons bag.

He piled all the bags next to the door and did a once through to make sure he'd gotten it all. When he'd decided it all looked clean, he stopped in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next. He was starting to get a little freaked. How long would Sam be able to make it on his own if he'd bolted?

He sat down heavily on one of the beds and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. Okay, if he had bolted, he probably just went to Bobby's. Sam seemed to believe they needed his help, which, to be fair, they probably did. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of facing Bobby after last night. Bobby only knew about the prostitutes they'd tried, and Sam's apparent fixation with him being in the room when they did it. He didn't even know about the blow-job, let alone...

Shit. More than likely Sam'd stolen a car, rather than try to bus it, but Dean couldn't rule that possibility out. He'd have to stop by the bus station before he could head out of town. Dean stood up and grabbed the bags, taking them out and coming to an abrupt halt when it finally dawned on him that he'd have to pick the locks on his baby as well. Shit! He pounded his fist into the top of the car, and then immediately apologized to her, scanning the roof for any signs of a dent. He hitched out a deep breath when he realized there was no damage and kissed the black paint, wincing back when heat burned his lips.

"Dean?"

He turned around in alarm, only to find Sam standing right behind him. "Damn it, Sammy! Where the hell have you been?" he yelled.

"What? I... just took a walk for a while," Sammy's voice was subdued, quiet. "I'm..." Sam reached up and rested his hand against Dean's cheek. Dean froze in response. "I... did I scare you, Dean?" Sam's face held nothing but his emo-concerned look.

Dean stepped back from the hand, but Sam didn't drop it, just left it hovering there between them. "No, you didn't _scare_ me, Sam, but, I thought you took off! And, you have the keys!" Dean gestured angrily towards the Impala.

Surprised, Sam's hand went to his pocket and he paled even more than he was already. "Shit, Dean, I'm sorry. I don't even remember picking them up." He pulled them out of his pocket and held them out for Dean, who immediately swiped them out of Sam's hand.

Sam moved the hand to Dean's shoulder and stroked against the thin t-shirt material, causing an instant wave of goose bumps to cover Dean's skin. It felt good, but Dean pulled away anyway, resting his hands against the hood. "Sam," Dean said, forcing himself to let go of the nonproductive anger, "you eaten?"

"No... I... just walked," Sam answered lamely.

Dean looked at his brother. Sam looked pretty wretched and pulled in on himself. Dean was blowing it again. "Okay, Sam," Dean said authoritatively, "Go into the motel room and wait for me. I'm gonna go up the road and find us some coffee and something to eat. We need to talk."

For a moment, Sam looked like he was gonna argue, but then he silently pulled the key out of his pocket and went into the room, closing the door behind him.

Dean let out a sigh and threw their bags into the car. He found a gas station not too far down the road and bought coffee and prepackaged sandwiches. He picked up a large bag of peanut M&M's and a bag of chips for good measure, and, before he was really ready, found himself standing in front of the motel room.

"Sammy! Open up!" he called.

A moment passed and the door opened just enough for Dean to step into the room. The lights were off and with the curtains closed the room was cast in a deep shadow. There was just enough light that Dean could see Sam standing there as he swung the door shut behind him. Sam reached up as if to touch Dean's face again, but at the last minute he shrank back and grabbed the coffees and bag. He dumped them on the table and collapsed in one of the chairs.

Dean followed him, grabbing his coffee and taking a long swallow before pushing Sam's cup towards him. "Drink some, Sammy," he said, and then took the sandwiches out of the bag and tossed one at Sam. Sam caught it easily, but looked at it doubtfully. Dean got up and turned on a light, not liking being unable to see clearly. "Eat it, Sam," he ordered as he tore into his own.

He watched Sammy tentatively open the package and pull out his sandwich to take a bite. He looked a little surprised and moaned a bit, and then started tearing into his food like a starving man. Dean agreed with Sam, he was really hungry as well, and the sandwiches were gone in minutes, the chips rapidly joining them and the M&Ms decimated in short order. The chocolate and peanuts tasted better than the rest, and Dean had to force himself to share.

Sammy was sitting back, looking miserable and picking at the edge of the coffee cup like it was fascinating. Every so often his eyes would stray to Dean, only to look guiltily away. "Okay, Sammy," Dean said, "what's going on in that mondo-sized brain of yours? Huh?"

"We... we don't have to talk, Dean. Let's just head to Bobby's, okay?" Sam leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked miserable.

Dean arched an eyebrow at his brother. "We don't need to talk," he dead-panned. "Sammy, you look like someone just shot your dog."

Sam scowled and looked over at him. "What do you want me to say, Dean? I..." He made a scoffing noise and stood up, pacing across the room to open the curtain a little and look out.

"Well, for starters, are you okay?"

Sam sighed heavily. "Am _I_ okay?" Sam shook his head in exasperation.

"Yeah, Sam," Dean replied, irritation creeping into his voice. "It's a reasonable question to ask. Are you okay?"

Sam turned around and leaned against the air conditioner below the window. "I'm fine. But that's not the point. The point is, are _you_ okay?"

"Me?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, you."

"Well, I'm fine."

"You're fine?" Sam replied disbelievingly.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm just fine," Dean was getting irritated again.

"Well, that's good," Sam spit back. "We're all fine. That's just great." He shook his head and looked away, before turning back and adding tiredly, "Can we leave for Bobby's now?"

Dean shook his head. That wasn't helpful. How the hell was he supposed to have a fucking heart-to-heart with Sam if his emo little brother didn't want to participate? Dean sighed, searching his brain for what to say, and ended up flashing back on the touches and lingering looks that had been going on pretty much since when he'd woken up. Before he could stop himself he bit out, "You wanna fuck me, Sam?"

"What? No!" Sam replied, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Dean sat up straighter in his chair. "Seriously?"

"No, Dean, you're safe from me, okay?"

"That's awesome, Sammy," Dean replied with a snort. "For how long?"

Sam was turning a deep shade of red. "How should I know? This is why I think we should split up."

"Sam, that wasn't my point, and you know it. You've been touchy-feely all day. How much are you still feeling it?"

Sam turned even redder, if that was possible, "I..." He closed his eyes and Dean felt a shift in the conversation. He was maybe about to get some answers. "I just... being away from you was... hard," Sam admitted. "Harder than I wanted it to be." Sam was clenching his teeth, making the muscles in his cheeks dance. He sighed heavily again. "I want to be close to you..." He sighed in defeat, "I wanted to join you in the shower this morning. But... I didn't. I can control this Dean. At least... I can for a little while... I think." He brought his hands down to slouch onto the air-conditioner, looking completely pathetic. "I should leave."

The muscles in Dean's cheeks twitched at that, mirroring his brother's. "I told you I was okay with this Sam. You don't have to go anywhere."

"Dean," Sam protested, "this time I'm asking too much."

"I think _I_ get to be the judge of that, don't you think?"

"Dean, last night I... last night I raped you! Why aren't you angry? Why are you just rolling over and taking it?"

"Sam! No way in hell what happened last night was rape!" _So this is what his little brother was freaking out about?_ "You can't rape the willing Sammy!"

"That's just the point Dean, you weren't ' _the willing_.' I know you didn't want to have sex with me!"

Dean got up and walked across the room to Sam, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy, last night, I wasn't some _victim_." Dean flushed with anger at the thought. "You needed it. I decided to give it to you. I could have left. I _chose_ not to. Therefore, it wasn't..." Dean rolled his eyes, uncomfortable with the whole topic. "It wasn't _rape_ , Sam." Dean barely managed to get the offensive word past his lips.

Sam reached up and ran a finger softly over Dean's lips. Dean tensed, but managed to keep himself from pulling back. Sam sighed, "Would you have had sex with me if you didn't think I needed it to live?"

"You did need it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's not the point Dean, if you didn't think I needed it, would you have let me fuck you?"

Dean pulled back angrily. "Of course not! But - you did need it, and I _did_ choose to give it to you!"

"And that right there is the point, Dean. Don't you ever get tired of sacrificing for me? 'Cause I sure as shit am getting tired of taking from you. Having to get screwed by your brother isn't something you should've ever had to consent to."

"But I did... Damn it! We're just going around in circles here. No matter what you insist on calling it, I'm okay, Sam. You didn't hurt me. It actually even felt kinda good..." Sam's eyes widened slightly, and Dean felt himself blushing yet again as he realized what he'd just admitted. He moved on quickly, hoping to cover it over. "Do you know when the curse came back? Did you notice anything wrong when you went to sleep?"

Sam was silent long enough Dean was wondering if he was going to answer when Sam finally replied, "It must've come back in the middle of the night. I didn't notice anything different before we crashed, man."

"And today? Your attraction to me? Is that like it was before?"

Sam nervously ran his hand through his hair, "No, I'm pretty sure it's worse than it was before."

Shit. So not what he wanted to hear. "Huh, well, then we just gotta get the stuff from Bobby and do the ritual again. We can do it more than once, right?"

"Well, actually," Sam said hesitantly, "Bobby said no. He doesn't even think it was an incubus at this point, and he doesn't think the ritual is safe to do unti..."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean interrupted, "What the hell do you mean it wasn't an incubus? I know what I saw, dude. I know what I killed. It was an incubus. Bobby doesn't know what he's talking about this time."

"Bobby said the ritual wouldn't have failed if it was an incubus, and, my fixation on you is a little odd for an incubus curse, Dean."

"Bobby said, Bobby said... well, he wasn't there, and you don't remember, and I know what I saw!"

"Dean, the ritual did fail, and it's worse now. I agree with Bobby, it could be dangerous to cast it again without knowing what the hell went wrong the first time. You sure you wanna keep hangin' around me?"

"Sam, yes," Dean sighed, exasperated. "I'm not going anywhere, dude, so get over it." Dean moved to sit next to Sam, and wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders. He felt Sam relax against him, and tightened his grip. "It's better when we're close, right?"

"Yeah, dude... even better when we're touching," Sam admitted reluctantly.

"So, we deal with this. Try to keep in contact with each other as much as possible and maybe you won't get so bad, so fast. And if it starts getting worse, we take care of it right away and maybe you won't lose yourself so much. I don't mind touching you, you know... well, it is a little girly..."

Sam shoved against him. "Jerk!"

Dean chuckled, "Yeah, I knew there was a reason I always called you a Bitch." That earned him an elbow in the side and he groaned in mock pain.

Sam tentatively reached down and rested his hand flat on Dean's thigh. Dean covered Sam's hand with his own. "We'll be okay, Sammy," Dean snorted and ran a hand across his nose as he stood up. "Meanwhile, car's packed. Let's say we hit the road, huh?"

Sam stood as well and quietly followed his brother out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean's right arm was stretched across the front seat of the Impala. Sam had fallen asleep over an hour ago, and Dean found himself idly stroking his soft hair through his fingers. It was for Sam's sake of course; he'd seen the faint stress lines appear on Sam's face every time he stopped touching him. Sam denied the problem - insisted that proximity was enough, but Dean knew Sam too well not to see that touch helped, and every bit of relief he could offer he would give willingly. Sam was really beating himself up over his perceived mistreatment of his brother and Dean couldn't seem to convince him to just let it go.

They'd probably have to pull off the road soon though; food, and more importantly, a latrine, were becoming more than a necessity.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," he announced fifteen minutes later when he finally found a roadside diner to stop at. Sam jerked awake, a startled exclamation half escaping before he figured out where he was. Dean laughed at him, "Come on, Sam, I need to eat."

"Can't we just go through a drive-thru?" Sam muttered blearily.

Dean scowled at him. "That's all we've done for two days, Sammy, 'Sides, I gotta take a piss. So move your lazy ass."

Sam followed him as he got out of the car and entered the diner so Dean figured he was okay. A young waitress stood behind the counter and her jaw dropped slightly open as they entered, lust clear in her eyes as she looked them both over slowly. Dean allowed himself to strut a bit as he walked by her; he'd been so wrapped up in Sam the last couple days that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be noticed by a pretty girl. He smiled at her as he walked by and she smiled back, but nature called so he headed to the restrooms while Sam picked a table.

When he came back out, he saw Sam sitting in the rear of the restaurant and he went to join him. The waitress appeared at the table a moment later. "Hi boys, can I get you anything to drink?" She smiled at both of them but when Sam completely ignored her, she turned her full attention to Dean.

"Well, sweetheart, why don't you bring us a couple of coffees," Dean answered for both of them. Sam didn't even look up.

"Sure thing, sugar," the waitress, Sandi, according to the name tag, replied before sauntering away.

Sam was staring at the table top as if he was mesmerized by the shiny surface. "Well, you're good company, sunshine," Dean muttered sarcastically.

Sam looked up briefly but his eyes didn't quite meet Dean's before looking down at his hands again. "Just tired, Dean," Sam said with a hint of defensiveness. Sam shifted his gaze out the window and didn't say anything else, and Dean decided not to press it. He got that Sam was moody lately.

When the waitress showed up again, Dean dropped the silverware he'd been fidgeting with and gave the girl a big smile, grateful for the distraction from Mr. Sour Pants.

She smiled back, then giggled nervously when she spilled a little of the coffee on the table. Dean took the napkins that she grabbed to clean the mess gently from her, letting his hands linger on hers for just a moment too long. "I got it, Sandi." Some of her nervousness slipped away, her gaze becoming more intense. Yeah, he had this one wrapped up if he wanted it.

"Hamburger and fries," Sam interrupted loudly, his voice laced with irritation.

The waitress jumped, and stammered, "Oh, sure," as she set the pot down on the next table. "And what about you, beautiful?" she asked, shifting her attention almost immediately back to Dean, looking at him like she wanted to eat him.

Dean gave Sam a _what the fuck_ look before turning to smile back at the waitress, "Make that two."

"Oh, I'd love to..." she drawled and then giggled again as she walked to the kitchen window to place the order.

Dean tried to catch Sam's eye, but he was still being moody, staring determinedly out the window. Dean left him to it and moved his attention back to the waitress. She was pretty, and blond, and curvy, and, God, Dean could go for that right about now. As if she was aware of his gaze, she turned back and gave him a blinding smile, and Dean felt his dick stir in his pants.

When she disappeared into the back, Dean sighed and rested his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. After the hours on the road, it felt good not to have to look at anything. Relaxing into the seat, he let his mind wander, and it headed straight out to the back of the restaurant, the girl pressed against the wall with her legs wrapped around him, his dick wrapped in hot, wet...

Sandi startled him out of his thoughts when she brought the food, placing the plates down on the table with a flourish and a clatter. "Can I get you boys anything else?" she purred, her hand coming down to rest on Dean's shoulder.

"Nope, we're good... for now," Dean replied.

Sam startled them both by suddenly standing up and storming back to the bathrooms, slamming the door behind him. The waitress was looking after his brother with concerned eyes, and Dean thought about following him, but then immediately gave the thought up as too girly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Sandi asked.

"Naw, my brother just hasn't been getting much sleep lately and it makes him cranky," Dean deflected, picking up the burger and taking a big bite.

"Oh, he's your brother?" She leaned her hip casually against the table, watching him eat as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. All traces of her earlier nervousness seemed to have disappeared.

"Yeah, we're on a road trip together." Dean said as he continued to devour his food. He really must have been hungry for the food to taste this good.

"Oh," she replied, disappointed, "You gonna be in town long?"

"Naw, we're just passing through actually," Dean answered honestly. If they were gonna hook up, he wasn't going to let her think it was anything more than that. "How long 'till you're done here?"

"Oh, not till seven." She reached out to run a finger over his bottom lip, and purred, "But I'm due for a break and the restaurant's empty right now..." She moved her finger back slowly from his lip so he could see the bit of catsup she'd wiped from it, and then deliberately sucked the finger into her mouth.

Dean barely noticed the moan that escaped him and he stood up, his jeans uncomfortably tight and burger long forgotten. Rational thought deserted him and he allowed her to grab his hand and pull him towards the back exit.

Suddenly he felt a strong hand jerk him backwards, and just like that Sam was back, throwing the waitress roughly to the floor and slamming him against the wall, pushing all the air from his lungs.

"Son of a bitch!" he heard the waitress yell, echoing his own thoughts.

His brother was standing in front of him, one arm pressed tight across Dean's chest, pinning him to the wall. He was seething with anger, breathing heavily, all the muscles in his face and neck corded tight. He reached his other hand up and gripped Dean's face, then growled, "You're mine, Dean! Nobody touches you but me!"

Dean felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at Sam, taking in eyes dark with anger, and - yeah, Dean was getting better at recognizing it - lust. He was dimly aware of the girl in the background yelling, "What the fuck, I thought you said you were brothers?" and he wanted to make sure she was okay, but he couldn't tear his attention away from Sam.

Sam moved his hands up, gripping Dean's hair and banging his head back into the wall, the lines of their bodies pressed tightly together. Sam moved one of his legs so that it slipped between Dean's, pressing tightly into his crotch, the feeling uncomfortable and not exactly a turn-on. His open mouth ghosted across Dean's face, their breaths mingling. Sam forced Dean's right cheek into the wall, exposing the side of his neck and whispered into Dean's ear, "Mine."

Dean pressed his hands against Sam's chest, trying to push him off, but in terms of sheer physical strength, Sam had him beat. He wasn't moving Sam without hurting him, and he wasn't ready to go there yet. "Come on, Sammy, you gotta calm down here, dude..." Dean's words were cut off as he felt Sam bite down on his neck, hard, the fiery pain making him struggle against his brother, surprise at the pain making him yell out.

"That's it, I'm calling the cops!" he heard the waitress shout.

Shit, they couldn't do this here. Dean wrapped his hands around Sam's neck, digging his fingers in, and Sam jerked back. "Sammy," he pleaded, "not here, okay?" Sam just stared at him, his gaze clouded, nobody home. Dean reached a hand up and wiped at his neck, when he glanced down at it, there was blood. No wonder the waitress was calling the police.

"It's okay, Sandi," he yelled out, not really believing it would help, but having to at least try. "I'm fine, there's no need to involve the cops!" He couldn't even look around to be sure she heard him. Dean grabbed Sam's face, trying to meet his eyes, "Anything you need, Sammy. Just... not here, okay? We gotta take this outside." Sam was still breathing heavy, tense with anger and... other emotions, but he didn't resist when Dean grabbed his shoulders and started guiding him out of the restaurant.

He paused at the door to pull out his wallet, and Sam grabbed his hand again. "No, Sam. It's okay. But _not here_." Sam stilled and Dean pulled his hand free long enough to pull out a few twenties and throw them on a table. He backed through the door and Sam followed as if an invisible leash connected them, so Dean just kept going until he reached the passenger side of the Impala. He opened the door and slid across to the driver's side, Sam following him in. Dean's idea had worked perfectly, except, it wasn't gonna occur to Sam to close the dammed door.

Dean reached across Sam's lap and managed to swing the door shut before Sam grabbed Dean's head and descended on Dean's mouth. He forced his lips apart and dove in with his tongue, but it didn't seem to be enough, and Sam began sucking on his lips and tongue, until finally Dean's whole mouth was being swallowed up.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, pushing Sam off him, "Not here! Just, let me get us someplace safe." Dean pulled back, putting his hands on the steering wheel but Sam just followed him, his face pressed into Dean's neck. _Screw it_ , Dean thought, as he threw the car into gear and tore out of the parking lot.

Sam moaned as he mouthed his way down the front of Dean's t-shirt and Dean fought to keep his concentration on the road. Sam pulled the shirt up, biting and licking his way around the flesh of Dean's abdomen, while Dean took to the side roads; he was getting them hopelessly lost while looking for someplace, any place, that was secluded enough for him to pull off the damn road.

Sam had ripped Dean's jeans open and was mouthing his way around Dean's cock by the time he finally found a spot where the road dipped down enough to mostly hide the car from view. The Impala bounced down the embankment and slid to a stop, almost hitting one of the trees, and he muttered a sincere apology to her as he shoved the door open and let himself fall out onto the grass.

Sam snarled at him and followed him out with a thud, latching onto Dean's dick once more. He was still way too adrenaline-filled to appreciate what Sam was doing though. After a moment he heard Sam mutter, "Not enough, not enough," and he started roughly pulling Dean's pants down his legs. Shit, this was going way faster than Dean had anticipated. He felt the material catch, heard it fucking rip as Sam tore the jeans off his body. He forced himself to move to Sam, to help him out of his and return the favor.

As soon as their pants were dealt with Sam was back at him, running his hands over his body roughly, his fingers digging into Dean's ass cheeks. _Shit, too fucking fast..._

Dean pulled out of Sam's grasp and managed to get to his bag on the back seat before Sam was grabbing him from behind and running his lips and tongue over his ass. _Shit._

Dean's heart was about to pound out of his chest as he rummaged through his bag for the bottle of lube he'd picked up right after they'd hit the road. He felt one of Sam's fingers breach him, pain filling him as he jerked out of Sam's grasp, and turned around to shove the bottle into his brother's hands. "Use this!"

Sam took the bottle and stared at it stupidly for a beat, and Dean grabbed it back, flipped open the cap and poured it liberally over Sam's hands and dick before Sam could even react.

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and pushed him back down to the ground. Dean desperately tried to relax as he felt Sam's fingers and then, way too soon, his dick, pushing at his hole. He hissed out a breath as he felt Sam thrust roughly into him. "Mine!" Sam yelled as he shoved all the way home. "Mine," he repeated before rocking back out and then in again.

Sam kept up the litany of "Mine," as he continued to push in and out.

Dean couldn't feel past the burn, his lack of enthusiasm apparently not a deterrent this time around. He found himself muttering a counter-litany to his brother's, "Yeah, Sam. Yours. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay. I'm yours Sam, it's okay..."

Thank God, it didn't take long before Sam came, shuddering into Dean. A final "Mine," breathed out amid panted breaths and a quiet sob, before Sam collapsed against him.

Dean lost track of time as the two of them lay on the ground, their rapid breathing slowing together. Sam remained wrapped around him, their legs intertwined, Dean's arms gripped in Sam's embrace as if he never wanted to let him go.

The overwhelming fatigue that had hit him the previous times they'd had sex didn't seem to be happening this time. Dean was beginning to wonder if Sam had passed out when he felt his brother jerk above him and, "Dean?" was whispered into his ear, sounding horse and confused.

He was still trying to figure out what to say when he felt Sam's hand brush over the wound on his neck, and then Sam was scrambling backwards, pushing painfully off Dean's back with his fist, making him expel all the air in his lungs with a grunt. As if that was the bulk of his worries.

Dean stiffly rolled over and sat up, his eyes immediately tracking to his brother's. Sam had landed at the bottom of the slope a few feet away and sat staring at his hand, which was coated with a fair amount of blood. Self-consciously Dean reached up and discovered that a significant amount of blood was still oozing from the bite Sam had placed on him. Damn, the kid had gotten him good.

Still not sure what to say, but needing to offer his brother something, Dean started, "Sammy..."

"Did I do this, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, his eyes fixed on his bloody hand. Dean noted that Sam's hand was shaking.

Dean shifted painfully, preparing to move closer. "I'm fine..."

"Dean!" Sam interrupted more sharply. "Did I... What, what did I do?"

And yeah, it really shouldn't be such a surprise that Sam's brain was a little scrambled after going all beast-master on him, but still... In lieu of something brilliant to say he dragged himself to his knees and started to move forward.

Sam responded by crab-walking backwards away from him, his lower half naked and exposed. There was an image.

Dean's eyes caught on the fading scars that crossed Sam's groin and legs, and he swallowed against unwanted memories that pushed at the edge of his consciousness.

"Stay the hell away from me, Dean!" Guilt and horror made Sam's voice sound rough.

Dean froze, unwilling to add to it, helpless to fix a situation that was all kinds of fucked and neither of their faults. Nervous sweat trickled down the side of his face, into the cut on his neck. It stung a little. He needed to get the blood flow stopped; he was starting to get a little light-headed. Sam was still moving slowly backwards, muttering obscenities under his breath and looking like he was gonna bolt.

Dean put his hand on his head and sat down heavily, forgetting for a moment why that was a really stupid plan. A groan escaped despite himself. Shit, that hurt. He fell back onto the grass and muttered, "Sammy, I think you'd better take a look..."

Sam stopped for a moment, indecision warring over his features. "Dean, I..." his voice trailed off and then he took a hitching breath and moved forward, scrambling in the backseat for the med kit before fussing over the hole in Dean's neck. So far so good; Sam wasn't looking like he was gonna run any more, but he still looked completely shaken and miserable, and getting him to play nursemaid was the only good idea Dean'd had so far.

They were silent as Sam worked. Dean couldn't even try to catch his gaze since he had to keep his neck bared. Sam's hands were gentle on his skin, despite the tension he could feel radiating up and down Sam's body. He still didn't know what the fuck to say to make this better, his brain skittish around the only phase he could come up with. _You can't fix this..._ Fuck that. What finally did come out was unplanned, "Sammy, what do you... do you remember what happened?"

Sam's hands stilled for a moment, and then, "Dean, you're gonna need stitches. We should find a hospital."

Question neatly side-stepped. "You can do it, Sammy."

"I... Dean, you'll scar."

"Just do it, Sam," Dean ordered with a heavy sigh. He could feel the argument brewing like a physical thing. "I don't care about a couple of small scars on my neck, Sammy. Just do it. It's _no big deal_ , okay?" One small mark on his neck couldn't possibly compare to what Sam had been through. He hurried on before Sam could interrupt, "'Sides, we can't risk the doctors asking too many questions on this one. I'm not gonna put you at risk, and there's nothin' you can do to make me go, so stitch it up or slap some band aids on it, but this discussion's over."

Sam exhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a moment before coming to a decision and getting the needle from the kit. Silence descended once more as Sam worked. Dean gritted his teeth against the pain and hoped that maybe this time they wouldn't need to talk. There was really nothing to talk about anyway. Was it really too much to ask for his brother to just let it go this time?

He felt Sam finish and heard him cleaning up while he continued to sit worthlessly on the ground. A pair of sweats and boxers landed in his lap. Right. Good plan. He silently stood and put them on. When he got into the car, Sam joined him, neither of them looking at the other. The keys were still hanging slightly out of the ignition and Dean started her up, got her back on the road. Not quite knowing where they were, Dean just drove.


	8. Chapter 8

_The air is frigid around him, enough to make his bones ache. He shivers and tries to shift his hands, moaning when the bonds shift against the raw skin of his wrists. The numbing cold helps him forget his restraints sometimes, at least until he tries to move. He's fading in and out, fatigue his constant companion now. Pretty soon, he'll start to pass out once more, and the chain around his neck, the one that's also attached to the ceiling, will jerk him back awake. Again. Or maybe this time he won't wake up at all..._

 _Maybe that would be a relief._

 _"Dean..." he tries to call out around the filthy gag in his mouth, but it comes out mostly unintelligible. **Please, I need you...**_

 _He's kneeling on the bed, and straps across the backs of his legs are holding him in position, making it impossible to move. The muscles in his thighs are trembling with exhaustion; the pain radiates through abraded skin and abused muscle, causing little whimpers to occasionally escape him, despite his best attempts to hold them in._

 _He's long ago lost track of how long he's been here. Wherever here is. Long periods of time crawl by between his captor's visits, leaving him with nothing to distract himself from the hopelessness that's become his constant companion. The shaking in his legs increases and the rope tightens, but he can't bring himself to care. Not much longer..._

 _A soft noise startles him and a fresh wave of terror causes his body to stiffen once more. He strains to see something in the darkness that envelops him and a desire for light - any light, even moonlight - assails him so powerfully that it's hard to breath. Just to be able to see a little bit; it's been days..._

 _He hears nothing else and he wrestles down the panic, telling himself that it's just another random sound in the darkness. They always startle him, and they almost always mean nothing._

 _The room is quiet. Waiting._

 _A hand trails down his chest, breaking the stillness, and he jumps, a strangled cry forcing its way out of his lungs. **He'd listened - there'd been nothing!** He holds his breath, arching his back as much as he can, but the hand simply follows him, pressing into bruised and bleeding flesh. The pressure increases enough to cause the broken bones beneath his skin to shift slightly, leaving waves of fresh torment in its wake._

 _He feels the gag release, sending waves of agony traveling through his jaw as he instinctively tries to close his mouth and swallow._

 _"Beg for me, Samuel, you're so pretty when you beg," the deep voice purrs into his ear, the resonance making him tremble, though Sam is never quite sure whether the sensation is pleasant or painful. He silently shakes his head **no** , even as his body stirs with the beginnings of desire._

 _Soft lips press against his, causing the cracks to split and bleed, but it doesn't care. It never does. Sam opens his mouth to it, lets it in without a fight, almost welcoming, even though the putrid breath is making him want to gag._

 _Its hand slips down into the curls of hair at his groin, and then moves down lower to caress his balls, pressing hard against the abused flesh. Sam jerks against it in pain, but his dick immediately responds to the hated touch._

 _"Please," he whispers, desperately trying to get the second word, **stop** , to follow, but his throat closes around it. Even his words aren't his own. "Please," he sounds broken even to his own ears. _

_The thing moves around him, causing the mattress to sag and the chains to tighten around the flesh of his neck, just this side of choking, and he has to gasp for air around the unyielding metal. It fits itself against his back, presses wet, slimy kisses down the side of his face and down his neck, and he finds himself pushing back helplessly against its muscled torso, his body begging for more. "Still so eager for me to fill you, boy?"_

 _It grips his hips and shoves its dick into him, sending waves of fiery pain radiating out from the center of his body and Sam feels moisture tracking down the sides of his face. "Please," he whispers again, no longer sure exactly what it is that he's begging for._

 _The creature pounds into him, over and over again, the hard thrusts feeling like they might rip him apart, but just like every other time, the pain rapidly blends together with pleasure, until Sam can no longer distinguish between the two, need filling him so completely that he can think of nothing else. Gradually, he begins pushing back, matching its rhythm, letting himself climb towards climax, wanting, aching for more._

 _The creature's thrusts freeze unexpectedly and it pulls Sam in tightly against itself. Sam's breaths are loud in the sudden stillness of the room and panic tugs at his chest. He doesn't know what's stopped it; the unknown has become terrifying._

 _Its arms form a vise around Sam's chest, making it difficult to breathe. "Samuel," it says, its voice dripping with malevolence "We have a visitor. It's..." the thing pauses for effect, lets helpless dread build just a little bit more before it chuckles softly, and cruelly whispers, " **Dean.** " The creature licks over the shell of Sam's ear, wet and cold, while it says his brother's name, making the precious word sound obscene. "You want your brother to come save you, my pet?"_

 _It feels like his heart has stopped in his chest. He's frantic for Dean to show up and save him, but he desperately doesn't want his brother to see him like **this** , with his body practically shouting his arousal as he pathetically allows the thing to use him as its play toy. "Dean..." it comes out a whispered plea for salvation. _

_"You want your brother, my love?" The thing laughs evilly in his ear, sending fear and dread coursing through his body. "Well, maybe I should let you have him then," it thrusts into him again as if to make a point._

 _Sam collects what little is left of his bravado, trying to hide his fear at the danger his brother is about to walk into for him; it's a hopeless attempt - the thing always seems to read him effortlessly. "Dean's gonna kill you," he manages to spit out, his voice like gravel._

 _"You keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better, child," it sneers. "Nothing human can kill me. You're mine until you die, remember? You forget your place." It runs its hands possessively across his torso, the soft slide of skin spiking his arousal, pleasure and pain both making him throb with need._

 _It begins moving again, and the brutal thrusts increase in both speed and intensity, ripping through him like a knife. It presses its mouth against his ear, whispering something in an ancient language. The words are like skewers in his brain, the dual assault making it impossible for Sam to keep track of what it's saying._

 _Despite the torment, Sam's arousal comes to a head, crashing through him in waves. At the same moment, light suddenly flares, but it leaves him no less blind than he was before. He flinches away, his eyes tightly closed against the glare._

 _"Oh my God, Sammy..." his bother's words sound like they are ripped from his throat, laced with horror, and it kills Sam just a little bit more._

 _The thing inside him laughs cruelly as it clutches him tighter. "Like what you see, Winchester?" it says, jerking his body in Dean's direction. "He's all ready for you."_

 _"You're dead," Dean growls, and the deafening sound of a gun shot echoes through the room._

 __

~o0O0o~

He came awake with a jerk, the sound of his brother's name loud and mournful over the rumble of the Impala's engine. He didn't really remember more than bits and pieces of what he'd been dreaming; endless loops of sex with Dean had suddenly been replaced with what the demon had done to him. A nightmare, sure, but he strongly suspected that this time, the stuff with the creature wasn't simply imagined - this dream had been forged from memories.

He didn't want them; the second-hand knowledge he'd had before had been more than enough.

He was shivering as if it was cold, and he wrapped his arms protectively across his chest. Turning his head slightly, he was embarrassed to realize that his head was resting on Dean's leg, the material damp under his cheek. Dean's hand was running gently through his hair, soothing, as if Dean knew.

He struggled to sit up, to move away, but Dean pressed him back down, keeping him there, and Sam wanted the comfort as much as he didn't, so he relaxed back into the touch.

He lay there in silence for a while, feeling like a child, listening to the comforting sound of the engine. Gradually, he realized that they weren't moving. "Dean? Where are we?"

"'Bout ten minutes outside of Bobby's. Didn't want to wake you up. You haven't slept much, the last few days." Yeah, the last few days since he'd started fucking his brother again.

"Dean... I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know, Sammy. I know. But you don't have to be."

Pressure seemed to build in the silence, neither of them knowing what to say to fix the already old argument.

Sam broke first, suddenly desperate to get Dean away from him. "Leave me here, Dean," he begged. "Please. Bobby and I can research this without you here. We'll figure something out. Please... don't let me hurt you again." He gripped Dean's leg tightly, willing him to understand.

" _Not_ leaving you, Sammy," the words were practically growled out.

"You don't want this, Dean, you don't. I know you feel responsible, but Dean, you're gonna end up hating me." Sam pushed himself up, feeling sick with the words but knowing they were true. He had to make Dean see reason. "Dean, you need to go."

"Sam. I..." Dean took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Is this all kinds of awkward? Hell, yeah. Is this something I ever would have chosen? Hell, no. But, Sam, you gotta know. I love you, man." Dean was practically glowing crimson, and Sam felt affection for his brother bubble up and war with his desire to make Dean go.

Unexpectedly, Dean managed to work through his embarrassment. "Sammy, even if we never find a way to cure this thing, we're gonna be okay. _I'm_ going to be okay. You _aren't hurting me_. Not really. You aren't a monster, Sam. Stop beating yourself up over something you can't control. I don't hate you for it. I don't have it in me to hate you. I can't."

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, and he felt the fight drain out of him. He leaned into Dean's touch, even though he hated himself for it.

Someone needed to.


	9. Chapter 9

Sammy'd gone quiet after he made his chick-flick speech, but at least when Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder he'd relaxed a bit. Dean was still feeling anxious about the dream his brother had had. The nightmares had happened before, of course, but it'd been pretty clear every time that Sam didn't remember anything when he woke up. This time had been different, and Dean wasn't sure what to do. Sammy was the talker - Dean just wasn't very good at it - case in point his girly speech of just a few minutes ago. Somehow, Dean managed to keep his groan inside as his words played in his head once more.

Maybe Bobby would know what to do.

Bobby had been working on a car when they'd pulled up. He'd stopped when he heard them, and was leaning against the side of the car, a wrench in his hand and grease smeared down the side of his face when they pulled in. Dean couldn't read Bobby's expression as he parked the car and he felt himself tensing up. He had no idea what he was gonna say to the man. They hadn't talked in four months.

"Hey, Bobby," he said as he got out of the car.

"Dean," Bobby acknowledged, looking over at the passenger side of the car expectantly. Sam was still sitting there, staring at his hands and looking pale.

"Sammy?" Dean called out loudly, and Sam looked up, startled, and quietly got out of the car. Dean walked over to Sam's side and put his hand on his arm. "You doin' okay?" he asked softly.

Sam cast a quick glance at Bobby and looked quickly away. "I'm fine," he lied, his eyes betraying him.

Bobby nodded toward the house, and led the way inside.

Sam hovered at the doorway while Dean sat at the table in the kitchen and Bobby poured out three cups of coffee. He put a cup down in front of Dean and offered one to Sam but Sam ignored it and moved to the window instead, looking out.

"Tell us you found a solution, Bobby." Sam said, bracing his arms against the windowsill. It was clear from his posture that he was expecting the worst.

Bobby sat down and sighed. "Well, I looked again while I was waiting for you boys to get here, just to be sure, but..." He shook his head, "If it'd been an incubus, that ritual should'a done the trick. I suppose we should've been more careful when we did it - I mean, a lotta this seemed like a classic incubus infection, what with Sam needing the sex and all, but this business with Sam needin' you around for it was..." Bobby paused and shook his head, "I'm sorry boys, but I think I messed this one up. The more I research the more I think we're dealing with something a lot more complex than a simple incubus; I just don't know what." Bobby took off his cap and scratched his head.

"I think we need to go over the symptoms one more time, and anything you remember from the attack, see if we can't find something we missed. Now Dean, you said before that Sam had sex with the prostitute, but that he seemed to draw energy from both of you?"

Dean was flushed with guilt - they hadn't given Bobby all the facts, it hadn't seemed necessary at the time, but now...

"I fucked him, Bobby." Sam muttered into the silent kitchen.

Dean felt sucker-punched. _Shit_.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"I raped him, Bobby. Twice," Sam said more forcefully, walking over to the table where Bobby sat stunned. "And I'm gonna do it again," Sam continued, his eyes pleading. "You need to get Dean the hell away from me."

"Damn it, Sammy, you know that's not true," Dean growled out, anger and embarrassment at what Bobby must be thinking overriding, for the moment, his omnipresent need to protect Sam. "That is _not_ how it happened."

Sam looked... lost as he backed out of the room, not breaking his eye contact with Bobby. Not looking at Dean. He got up to follow, but Bobby grabbed him before he could leave. "No, Dean. You aren't leaving without an explanation."

Dean pulled himself from Bobby's grasp, a feeling of betrayal stopping him at the kitchen door when he heard the front door slam. _What the hell had Sam been thinking?_ Dean grabbed hold of his knee-jerk reaction and stomped it down. If he pulled his head out of his ass for even a moment, it was pretty clear what Sammy had been thinking.

"I have to go after him, Bobby. He's..." Dean couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't bring himself to call his brother unstable, even though he was terrified of what Sammy might do.

"Sam's not gonna run off. My library's the best shot he has at finding a solution. Now," Bobby ordered, "tell me what the hell happened, and why the hell you didn't tell me about it."

Dean felt Bobby standing right behind him, but couldn't make himself turn around. Knew if he did he'd never be able to form the words. "You can't rape the willing, Bobby," Dean said, staring at the faded carpet. "It's what he needs. How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that?"

"Maybe you wouldn't have had to if you'd told me everything that was going on in the beginning, did you ever stop to think about that?" Bobby asked angrily. He grabbed Dean's shoulder and spun him around, pushing him roughly against the wall. Dean couldn't force himself to meet Bobby's eyes. "Damn it, Dean," he said, his words laced with frustration as he gave Dean's shoulder a shake and then let him go, condemnation clear. "You stay here. I'm gonna go find your brother. Be prepared to talk when I get back," Bobby said, apparently changing his mind about standing around and chatting while Sam went who knew where. Bobby pushed past him and out the door before Dean could find the words to object.

~o0O0o~

Sam sat hidden out among the cars, folded up into himself as tightly as his long limbs would allow. He couldn't stop the shaking that had overtaken his body, and tears were running freely down his face. He couldn't stop them any more than he could stop anything else in his life. God, he prayed Dean and Bobby weren't out looking for him; he didn't want either of them to see him like this.

_Hands come out of the cold darkness to press against him and he can't move away as they invade him; they touch him in places that no one ever has before, leaving both pain and pleasure in their wake. He can't make them stop. And sometimes he doesn't even want to..._

__

He pressed a hand against his head, willing it to stop. Since he'd woken, it was like the dam that had been holding the memories back had cracked, more and more leaking through, faster than he could plug the holes. He desperately didn't want to remember. He slammed his head back against the car behind him, hoping for oblivion, but he couldn't seem to hit himself hard enough to get there.

Gravel under shoes crunched before he heard Bobby call softly, "Sam?" He huddled away from the sound, willing the older man to go away and leave him alone. Bobby didn't seem to take the hint, "You okay, son?"

"Is Dean gone?" Sam bit out through clenched teeth.

"No, Sam, don't think that's a good idea, under the circumstances. Why don't you come on back to the house so we can get this figured out?"

Cold fury washed through him at the condescending words. Why the hell wouldn't anybody listen to him? He jerked back around to face the man, "God damn it, Bobby," he yelled. "I'm going to **_hurt_** __him. And he _won't_ protect himself. What the hell is wrong with you? You need to get him away from here - he won't listen to me!" He stood up shakily to look for a car that might run, clumsily trying to wipe away the tears that were making his vision swim. He had to get out of here.

"Sam," Bobby said, reaching out a hand to grab his shoulder.

Sudden, overwhelming panic caused him to jerk away from the touch so hard he stumbled back, losing his balance and landing heavily on the ground. Once he was down he just sat there. Couldn't move, couldn't think. His world was spinning apart on him too fast to keep up, memories and fear and self-loathing pinning him into the dirt more effectively than the restraints the creature had kept him in.

Familiar arms circled around him, and he let himself sink back into the comforting embrace, the tight grip stabilizing him. He needed this. He turned and buried his nose into the warm juncture of Dean's neck, breathing in the faintly salty scent. A ragged sob escaped as he slipped his hands beneath Dean's leather jacket, circling them around Dean's torso and clinging to him.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean had thought his heart was gonna stop when he'd found his brother and Bobby deep in the yard, Sam looking practically catatonic on the ground. He hadn't responded to Dean calling his name; just sat there with tears falling down his face, looking at nothing.

Bobby'd just stood there, watching Sam helplessly, and after the last week, after the last few months, really, it had felt completely natural to move over and take his brother in his arms. At least Sammy'd reacted to that. At least there was something he could do to help.

Bobby had helped Dean carry Sam back to the house - as long as Dean had kept his hands on Sam, Sam hadn't fought Bobby's touch - and now they sat on the couch together, Sam's head cradled in Dean's lap. Sammy wasn't responding to either of them, but he wasn't exactly unconscious either; he'd gotten agitated when Dean had laid him down and stepped away to grab a blanket. As long as Dean kept holding him, though, he was still except for the occasional tremor.

Bobby sat in an old chair across from them, his hand rubbing idly through his whiskers, lost in thought. The silence stretched on as Dean continued to run his hands over Sammy's hair and face, clinging to the one thing that seemed to be helping.

"Well," Bobby said, startling Dean's attention away from his brother, "He seemed... okay on the phone, and when he got here. But he did say it was bad. How long's he been like this?" Bobby motioned towards Sam with his chin.

Dean sighed. It was time to come clean with him; Bobby was right about that, but knowing that didn't make it any easier. "Honestly, this is as bad as I've seen him," his voice sounded hoarse, and he cleared it before continuing. "But he's been out of it before, when the... when the attacks came on. He's not really aware of much except me when... that happens."

"How bad was it, really, the first time around?" Bobby prodded gently when he stopped.

"At first it was like we said, you know, him using a prostitute with me in the room really did seem to help..." Dean stalled out again, unsure how he was going to get this story out. He thought he'd rather curl up in a ball and die alone than discuss his sex life, particularly his sex life _lately_ , with _Bobby_.

"But?" Bobby growled.

Dean looked down at Sammy's face, traced his fingers over the lines of his lips. It was easier to talk to Sam than Bobby, so he kept his focus down and somehow forced himself to continue. "Um, well... that didn't actually help for very long. He um, he needed me to... touch him. A lot. And uh, eventually it was better if we were, you know... both having sex with her at the same time. That, um... that was when I called you." Dean raised a hand and pressed his fingers into his eyes, willing the rest of it to come out, wishing, selfishly, that it could be Sammy who was explaining all this. He was a fucking coward.

Hoarsely, he continued on, "It took you a couple weeks to research, and, well... he was getting worse, Bobby. He was wasting away right in front of me, and, um..." he closed his eyes against the memory. Sam had needed him. There hadn't been any other fucking way to fix it... there _hadn't_.

"We got rid of the girls - they weren't helping anyway and he... he gave me a blow job, that's all... that's _all_ , and it... it seemed to help him. A lot... and then, you called back with the ritual..." Dean trailed off quietly. He risked a glance at Bobby, saw disgust written across his grizzled features, and looked quickly back down at Sam. He managed to stuff his emotions down by focusing on his brother, but just barely. "It seemed to work..." he whispered.

"We thought it worked," Dean repeated a little more forcefully. He tried to look at Bobby defiantly, but his gaze slid away almost immediately.

There was silence in the room for a long time after Dean finished. He was almost startled when Bobby cleared his throat and asked, "So, has he shown any interest in any other men besides you?"

Dean shook his head, it was pretty clear who Sam was fixated on.

"I see. I'd thought... well, I don't even really know what I thought. It doesn't matter now anyway." Bobby sighed, "We all wanted this to have an easy solution, Dean. Not a one of us was thinking about this clearly."

Yeah, except, out of all of them, only he'd had all the information, and _he_ hadn't just been attacked by a sadistic demon and then been fucked in the head by a curse. He nodded anyway, acknowledging Bobby's attempt to make him feel better.

"So," Bobby continued, "what do you know about the creature that attacked him, Dean?"

Dean struggled for a moment to even remember what had happened before the attack; it felt like a lifetime ago. "Um... There'd been demon omens in two different states, and Dad wanted us to check 'em both out, so he took one and we took the other..."

Sam took in a sharp breath and Dean paused to watch him. He didn't move again though, so Dean hardened his voice and continued, "Dad thought the one he was going after might be a trap, so he left the Colt with me. We were in Michigan, investigating, when Sammy just... disappeared.

"Took me a couple of weeks to track the bastard. When I finally found Sammy, he..." Dean trailed off, the horror of finding Sammy strung up, that thing in the act of raping him, washing over him as if it had just happened.

Dean forced himself to go on, ignoring the tears that were now trickling down his face, dropping down to land on Sam. "He'd been badly beaten and starved and... and raped. He was almost dead - the doctor who treated him after told me he probably wouldn't live. But he did... _he did_." Dean's grip tightened on Sam's shoulder, the familiar feel of his jacket, and the hard muscle underneath reassuring. "I tried calling Dad, a couple of times, but he's gone incommunicado again. We were looking for him when..."

"What happened to the creature?"

Dean looked up at Bobby, his eyes filled with hate. "Killed the fucker with the Colt; left the building to burn."

"Okay, that's... not actually good news," Bobby let out a tired sigh before continuing. "We don't exactly have much to go on... What'd it look like?"

Dean shrugged, trying hard to picture the scene when he'd walked in, without focusing on Sam. It was difficult. "Looked like a man. Kinda muscle-bound. Long black hair. White. Tall, like Sam... just a man."

"Coulda been a glamour or a possession," Bobby muttered, "Doesn't mean anything..."

"Wait," Dean interrupted, suddenly remembering. "It said something about Sam being 'ready for me.' At the time I thought that it was just bad-guy posturing, you know... but now?"

Bobby shrugged, "The attack, and Sam's fascination with you, seems pretty personal." Bobby paused, thinking, then shook his head. "So, what happened when it came back?"

God damn but Dean wanted this inquisition over. He bit his tongue and made himself get the rest of the story out, "Sam woke me up in the middle of the night. He was... he was completely out of it. It was pretty clear that just a blowjob wasn't gonna be enough this time. He wanted sex. I... I let it happen..." His hand clenched around Sam's shirt collar. This was hell; it all sounded so much worse now than it had felt when it was happening.

"And then, um, after we got on the road, there was this waitress and I, I kinda flirted with her, and Sammy just lost it. He was so pissed; ready to have sex on the floor of the fucking diner." Dean risked a glance at Bobby, but he just looked grim, so Dean continued, "I got us out of there, but we had to stop on the side of the road and... I don't know how I coulda stopped it, Bobby..."

"What happened to your neck?" The question was gruff and to the point - Bobby's only response.

Dean moved a hand to cover the large band-aid. He still wasn't sure what to think of that. "Sam... bit me. In the diner. It needed stitches."

Bobby raised his eyebrows at that. "Well, the big departure seems to be the fixation on you. I'll work on it from that angle. In the meantime, why don't you take your brother up to my room - the bed's big enough - I'll sleep down here on the couch."

"Bobby, I... Thanks, man."

Bobby snorted, "It's a little early for that, kid. I still haven't found a solution." Bobby stood and moved to the couch, casting a worried look down at Sam. "I know he's a little out of it, but if you could get him to talk about what happened..."

"I know, Bobby, I know, but I don't want to push it - it was pretty bad..."

"Just think about it, Dean, the more details I have the better. Here, I'll help you move him upstairs."


	11. Chapter 11

Sam came back to himself enough to stumble up the stairs with Dean's help, but he still wasn't talking. Dean watched helplessly as Sam crawled onto the bed to lean against the headboard. He was shivering, his arms wrapped around himself as if he was freezing.

Dean didn't have a fucking clue what to say or do to make it better, so he stood there torn. He didn't know whether to climb onto the bed with Sammy or go downstairs and help Bobby research. Of course, Sammy'd be way better at the research than him, but he really wasn't sure how much good he was doing here either, and _some_ help for Bobby would be better than none. Sam sure wasn't in a position to do it.

After shifting back and forth on his feet a few times, he finally sat on the bed and pulled Sammy close.

"Not a child, Dean," Sammy muttered, even though he tucked his head against Dean's chest and cuddled up against him with a sigh. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, running his hands up and down his long limbs. Sasquatch.

They sat together for a while, silent, until a particularly violent tremor had Dean clutching him tighter. "Hey, Sammy, what's going on in that mondo-brain of yours, huh? Wanna share with the rest of the class?"

There was a long pause, long enough for Dean to wonder if Sam'd gone catatonic again, before Sam whispered, "I think, I remember... all of it..."

Sam's voice broke a bit, and Dean felt his heart constrict in his chest. As long as Sam'd blocked it out, he could almost pretend that he hadn't screwed up. He was desperate to think of something to say, but there weren't any words that would help, so he just tightened his hold. The minutes ticked by, the house almost eerily silent; Bobby didn't even listen to music when he was working.

Sam stiffened; his hand reached out to grab Dean's arm tightly. "What's wrong?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't respond, but his breaths were starting to come out faster. "Dude, come on, man, you gotta talk to me here - this is what got us into trouble in the restaurant," Dean said, giving his brother a gentle shake.

"It's..." Sam let out a laugh and pulled away. He started to move off the bed but Dean grabbed his hand, stopping him. He continued laughing, quiet little painful laughs until they faded away, and Sam sat slumped, defeated. "It's time, Dean. Or, well, I think I can probably hold it off for a little bit longer, but..."

 _Shit_. But Dean wasn't about to cower away from this. He moved forward, making himself press his lips to the back of Sam's neck as he grabbed the bottom of Sam's shirt and snuck his hands underneath. He licked at the skin, then breathed, "I told you this was okay. It's okay..." His words caused goose pimples to spring up along Sam's damp neck.

He pulled the shirt off, and Sam didn't fight him; Dean took his own off before pressing his torso along Sam's warm back. He wrapped his arms around him and ran light fingers along Sam's chest.

He closed his eyes. It was a little easier to lose himself in the sensations when he didn't have to watch what he was doing.

He trailed his hands along Sam's sides and then up to the muscles in his back and neck, pushing his fingers into the muscle there to try and get Sam to relax. It was working, Sam was calming down under the touch a little and a moan escaped him, but it didn't last long - he stiffened back up almost immediately and started to pull away again. "God, Dean," he complained, "We're in _Bobby's house_ for God's sake."

"It's okay, Sam, he knows. I don't think we're gonna shock him at this point."

Sam turned around to look him in the face, the horror in it clear, "But it's _Bobby's_!" he whined. _Of all the damn things to fixate on..._ Dean closed his eyes again and covered Sam's mouth with his own to shut him up.

Sam kept his lips shut defiantly for a minute, and then suddenly groaned and opened up into the kiss, taking charge aggressively. His hands tightened on Dean's arms and he pushed him back onto the bed. "Dean..." Sam moaned into his mouth, "Need to fuck you."

Dean bit back a groan and willed himself not to tense up, he was still really sore from the diner this afternoon. _Damn it, didn't that count?_ "Yeah, Sam, okay," he replied, although Sam hadn't really waited for a response. Sam was pulling the rest of their clothes off with grabby hands, and Dean had to start helping or risk destroying even more of his wardrobe, such as it was.

Sam's hands were running possessively over his body, he seemed to know exactly where and how to touch to drive him crazy and Dean was responding accordingly. This was better than the last time, at least. He flailed out a hand and reached for the lube he'd... _not_ left by the bed. Yeah, he was brilliant that way. But he'd kinda hoped the earlier sex had counted. Guess not.

"Wait, Sam..." he muttered as he pulled himself to the side of the bed. Sam just followed, long body draped over his back, one large hand underneath him, wrapped around Dean's dick, despite it now being pinned between him and the bed, the other hand running over the muscles of his ass. The rough motions felt good, at least when they weren't hitting old bruises.

He managed to retrieve the lube from his bag just as Sam's fingers slipped into his crack, running over his hole. He let out a small hiss of pain, but Sam seemed to be slightly more with it this time and took the bottle from him, managing to poor a liberal amount of the freezing liquid onto his ass.

"Damn that's cold," he complained as Sam pressed his fingers into him.

He'd expected the pain that came; was a little surprised when Sam almost immediately sought out _that_ spot. Dean's head swam as pain and pleasure warred with each other for dominance.

He was still hanging half off the bed and he inched backwards a little, digging his knees into the mattress as he did to help Sam get a better angle. "I come, you come, Sammy," he muttered, "I know that's how this works." And, of course, yeah... that was probably why the diner sex hadn't done shit.

Sammy moaned over him, his fingers moving inside him, counter to the hand on his dick. He wanted this over now, except that he didn't want it to stop. He pushed back, hoping Sammy would move on from the fingers and fucking fuck him already, but he was completely unable to say the words aloud.

Sam dug in with his fingers again and the action seemed completely linked to his vocal cords, tearing a loud moan from him. Dean blindly reached around and grabbed Sam's dick, pulling it forward towards his hole. Sam finally got the hint, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with his cock, nudging in. He pushed past the resistance, causing Dean to moan heavily and thrust back, moving to meet Sam.

Sam reached around and grabbed his cock with his slicked up hand and he pulled, both hands working together, the slick motion sending new sparks of pleasure radiating though Dean's body.

"God, Sam," he huffed out on panted breaths, "Love you so much..." the chick stuff was apparently getting easier as Sam pounded into him. He struggled to focus on the pleasure part, and yeah, parts of this definitely felt good. Better than good.

Sam whimpered and squeezed his dick hard and then suddenly they were both coming, and Dean felt the energy flow out of him as they did, but considering this was one of the best fucking orgasms of his life, he couldn't make himself care. The energy continued to slip away, until Dean was just lying there under Sam, unable to keep his eyes open, unable to move. Sam's arms felt warm and comforting as they clung to him, and Dean slipped away into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam paused at the doorway, his head filled with little bits and flashbacks of sex that he didn't want to remember. Having sex with Dean seemed to fill him with a disgustingly unpleasant high at the same time that it knocked his brother out. Sam'd thrown up again and Dean hadn't reacted at all when Sam had climbed out of bed. It was a disturbing pattern that made it that much harder to pretend that everything was going to be all right.

He wanted to go back in and hold Dean, just in case he woke up, but he couldn't stand the thought of lying still, so he headed down stairs.

Bobby was hunched over one of his books, stacks of them surrounding him like a child's fortress. He coughed lightly and Bobby looked up, only to grunt an acknowledgement and go back to the passage he was reading.

Sam moved forward and picked up a random book from one of the stacks, flipped it open and read the same sentence about ten times before slamming the text back down. Bobby looked up at that, and Sam couldn't take it, moving quickly out the door to start running through the dark yard. Not the safest place to run, but it sure beat sitting still right now.

He ran as hard as he could for over an hour before the unnatural energy started to dissipate a little. When he headed back in, sweaty and out of breath, Bobby was still sitting where he had been, hunched over a book. Sam thought it might be a different book, at least.

He didn't stop, just went straight upstairs to check on Dean. He hadn't moved either.

He didn't look cold, but he was naked. That hadn't even registered when Sam had left. He took a blanket and draped it over his brother's form, then sat down next to him without thinking about it and caressed Dean's shoulder, running his hand gently over the smooth skin. He dropped his head against his brother, pressing feather light kisses against him.

When he realized what he was doing, he stood up quickly and moved to the bathroom for a shower. Unable to really relax, even under the hot spay, he cleaned himself efficiently and then headed back downstairs to confront Bobby.

"Ya look better'n you did before, but that ain't sayin' much, kid," Bobby greeted.

"Please tell me you've found something, Bobby," Sam managed to get out as he sat, unable to look the old man in the face.

Sam found himself flushing, wondering how much Bobby'd heard earlier. It was pretty clear he'd been awake. He wanted to disappear. Be anywhere but here, but unless he could get Dean to agree to his leaving, it wasn't gonna help. He couldn't hurt Dean anymore than he already had. Dean's face was the only thing keeping him from going out back and putting a bullet in his head.

Bobby interrupted his morose thoughts, "We don't have much detail to go on, Sam. Your brother and I tried to figure some of it out, but anything you could add would be helpful."

"What... How much did he tell you?"

Bobby's tone turned hostile, "He told me everything, Sam, just like you need to do if you wanna to stand a chance of beatin' this thing."

Sweat beaded on Sam's forehead as he tensed under Bobby's accusing glare. He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from bolting. "Sorry..." he managed to whisper.

"Sorry ain't gonna fix anything, Sam. It's the future you gotta worry about. Leave the feelin' sorry for yourself behind, we got more important things to be worrying about right now."

"I know, I know, Bobby... I just...," Bobby didn't care if this was hard for him, and he was right, Dean was more important. "What do you need to know?

Bobby's tone softened, his posture radiating a bit of discomfort now, but he didn't hesitate to ask his question. "How long was it before the prostitutes stopped working, before only Dean could help you?"

Sam slumped further down in his chair. "It's always been about Dean, Bobby. The girls never... they were only there because it was the only way to arouse Dean. I tried to get him to believe they helped, but... eventually, he figured it out."

Bobby sighed and shook his head, then looked up as something occurred to him. "Always?" he questioned. "You had these kinds of feelings for your brother before?" Bobby sounded horrified.

Anger made Sam's first words come out loud and defensive, "No! Of course not, I'm not..." The anger left as quickly as it came; he couldn't blame Bobby for this. "I... I don't think so, I mean, not that I remember, but... these feelings I have for him, Bobby, they... they feel so natural that it's hard to wrap my head around not feeling like this. I can't... imagine not feeling attracted to him." _Which was stupid and wrong... what was wrong with him?_

 __

Bobby stood and moved around to lean against the front of his desk. "Sorry, Sam," Bobby said, accepting what he said without judgment, "I shouldn't have said that without thinking." Bobby ran a hand tiredly across his face. "Did the creature say anything or do anything that'd indicate what or who it was?" Bobby moved forward and put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam flinched away and Bobby immediately backed off. Sam had to calm his breathing for a moment before he could respond. "I don't think so..." Sam forced himself to think back over what he remembered, painful memories buried in a minefield. "It made me _want_ what it did to me, I remember that. It enjoyed hurting me, but I...I still wanted it." Sam gripped the arm of his chair tightly, hard enough to make his fingers ache, willing himself not to get trapped in the memories.

"It knew Dean was coming, I'm not sure how, but it didn't know about the Colt. It didn't think Dean could hurt it. Right before Dean showed up... it said something to me; I'm not sure what though. It wasn't in English."

"You got any idea what the language was?"

It was hazy, but he could remember the creature thrusting into him as it whispered into his ear. His head throbbed a warning as he tried to focus on the words.

 _You're mine until you die, remember? You forget your place..._

 __

Gripped by the memory, the words echoed through his head, pounding through him in time with the creatures thrusts, and then... the whispered words that followed hit like lightning through his brain, causing him to cry out and clutch at his head. He tried to push past the pain, but it just intensified, turning into agony, until tears were streaming down his face and he couldn't think beyond it.

"Sam, you alright?" Bobby's worried voice resonated through him and the pain eased back a little.

"I can't...I can't make them out, Bobby... I'm sorry..." he moaned.

A glass nudged at his hand, and Bobby helped him take small sips of water as the pain gradually began to fade.

"Okay," Bobby muttered as Sam relaxed against the back of the chair. He grabbed a book off the stack near him and handed it to Sam. "You look this over as soon as you feel up to it. Meantime, I'm gonna keep looking. You've given me a little more to go on." Bobby reached out to him, but then pulled away before he connected, moving back to his desk.

~o0O0o~

Dean stumbled down the stairs a few hours later to stand next to Sam's chair, his hand seeking out Sam's shoulder automatically. His touch was a relief, quieting the tension that'd been riding Sam since he'd left Dean sleeping. Sam hadn't even really been aware of it, but it was still a welcome reprieve to feel its absence.

Dean smiled at him, without mirth, perhaps, but still warm, and sat down at his feet after grabbing a book. After a while, Dean went to get food from the kitchen for all of them, but other than that the hours of study passed by in relative silence.

The press of Dean relaxed against him was more important to Sam than physical comfort, and his legs eventually went numb. He'd long since lost track of the number of texts he'd looked through with swimming vision when Bobby's voice suddenly echoed through the room, muttering, "Well, shit," the quiet voice somehow startlingly loud.

Sam's attention jerked to Bobby, and Dean mirrored him, both of them waiting expectantly. "Well, if this is true, it'd fit," Bobby continued hesitantly after looking over the text in front of him one more time.

Sam's throat was too dry to talk, but Dean managed to prompt, "You don't sound too happy about this, Bobby."

"Well, this legend talks about the offspring of Cupid and a succubus." Bobby stopped to reread and shook his head again. "According to this, Spurius, as the boy was called, had all the powers of Cupid, but he was corrupted by his succubus blood. The succubus left the child with Cupid, who wanted nothing to do with it, and tossed the child into the Pit. Spurius had the power to make creatures lust for each other. Just like Sam does for you," Bobby nodded at Dean and sighed heavily. "Trouble is, Spurius is the only one who can reverse it."

A moment went by in total silence before Dean broke it with a single angry word. " _Shit_."


	13. Chapter 13

_Disembodied hands crawl over his skin, shivers of pain and pleasure following the paths they trace._

 _He tries to brush them away, but finds his hands feel like heavy weights, impossible to move._

 _He tries to cry out, but his throat feels like it's filled with glass, and he can't make a sound._

 _He tries to move away, but the hands push him down into the rough floor, driving splinters of wood beneath his skin as he tries to struggle. They push him down until he can't move at all, until he feels his ribs snapping and gives up, swearing with voiceless words that he'll stop. That he'll be good, just, please, **stop**._

 _His breaths are coming out fast and hard, making him light-headed, making it difficult to think as he lays there and allows the hands to molest his body, to do whatever they want to him._

 _They move up to his face then, a brief mockery of a lover's touch, before forcing his jaws apart and invading his mouth, reaching to the back of his throat and causing him to gag, to choke around the fingers. He can't breathe and he wants to throw up; acid is clawing it's way up, leaving fiery pain in it's wake, but he somehow keeps it down, knowing instinctively that if he gives into his body's demand, he'll die under the creatures cold hands._

 _ **No more, God, no more**. But God doesn't hear him, never seems to **listen** , and never bothers to help. Sam's torture isn't important enough to intercede upon. **Sam** isn't important. _

_The fingers retreat from his mouth to trail wetly across the skin of his torso. They keep moving until they reach his ass, pulling his cheeks apart so violently the skin tears, and then they plunge in without pause, ripping a hopeless cry of, "Dean," from his throat._

 _At least noise comes out that time, though it feels like the soft flesh of his throat is being shredded. "Dean, please, why don't you come? I need you..."_

 __

~o0O0o~

"Dean..." Sam mumbled.

They'd been lying in the bed together for hours, Dean wrapped protectively around his brother. Somehow, Dean hadn't been able to get himself to relax enough to sleep as well. They'd been at Bobby's for over a month, and Sammy couldn't seem to last more than three days without needing to be taken care of. In all that time they hadn't been able to find another theory that fit. Dean had killed the only chance they had to break this thing.

"Dean, please..." Sam jerked in his sleep, and Dean's eyebrows furrowed in concern. Maybe it was time to wake his brother up.

"Why didn't you come?" The words were slurred and soft, but Dean felt them like a gunshot to the heart. He jerked away and sat up, his eyes burning as moisture gathered and threatened to spill. God, he couldn't do this. He'd started to get out of the bed, his legs slipping over the side, when he heard Sam whimper behind him, and just as suddenly he found himself wrapped around his brother once more.

"Come on Sammy, wake up," Dean whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

"Need you..." the words sounded pained and lost.

"Need you too..." Dean replied softly, "Come on, Sammy, wake up, okay? I'm right here. You're safe." Dean pressed his lips against Sam's, willing him to wake up, needing Sam to reassure him that everything was okay.

Sam tensed, his eyes snapping open, and he clutched at Dean as if he was drowning. "Make it stop, Dean, God; I don't want to remember..."

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. Shoulda found you sooner."

Sam's attention shifted to him instead of inward, exactly as Dean had intended. "Not your fault, Dean."

Dean suppressed his instinctive deflection, instead choosing to cover Sam's lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Actions were so much more effective than words, and anyway, there was no cure. They had to get used to this. Sam groaned as he responded to the kiss, opening his mouth to allow Dean entrance, their tongues twining together, hot and messy.

They were still probably at least a day out before they had to do this again, but a sudden moment of clarity hit Dean as he caressed Sam's mouth with his own. Sam hadn't had any control when that thing had hurt him, and he didn't have any control when the lust hit him. They needed to do this now, while Sam was all Sam, while he could still say no.

Dean deepened the kiss, rocking their bodies together as he did, and felt his dick sit up and take notice - he was definitely getting used to this. He let his hand trail down Sam's back, allowing himself to luxuriate in the feel of hard muscles under skin. He let his hand continue down until it hit the waistband of Sam's boxers, let it slip beneath the material and caress Sam's backside.

Sam drew in a harsh breath and started to pull away. "Dean, I'm not... you don't need to do this right now..."

Dean didn't hesitate, "Want this, Sammy, want you..." Dean ran his teeth lightly over Sam's jaw line, nipping lightly before covering it with his lips to suck gently, and Sam moaned in response. Dean smiled at his success and trailed his tongue down Sam's chin, continuing to bite and suck at the skin as he traveled down.

Sam grabbed him and shifted so that Dean was suddenly lying on top, between Sam's legs, pressing them together from chest to dick.

Dean's hand was trapped beneath Sam's body but he left it there, using it to press their groins more tightly together, looking for friction. It wasn't enough, and Dean moved his other hand between them, finding the holes in their boxers and pulling their dicks through to grip them tightly together. That was better.

He moaned as he moved his hand up their lengths and then back down, slipping over silky soft skin and little trails of slick wetness. Sam whimpered under him, a soft sound filled with need, and he did it again, faster this time. He pulled his trapped hand free so he could get better leverage and Sam brought his legs up to support Dean's hips so he had enough room to move.

Dean set a steady rhythm and dropped his head to Sam's chest, licking and biting over Sam's muscles as he moved. Kissing Sam's chest was so different than kissing a girl's, and yet, right at that moment, he couldn't honestly say he would prefer a girl's soft curves to Sam's hard lines. He wanted to continue his explorations, wanted to move down to Sam's stomach, but he wasn't flexible enough to do that and maintain the movements that were sliding their dicks together. And yeah, that _so_ wasn't an option right now.

Sam's hands wrapped around Dean's head, pulling him up enough to capture Dean's lips with his own. "Dean," Sam whined against them, "I need... I need..." Sam couldn't seem to get the words out so Dean could figure out what the hell he needed.

And while he didn't actually know anything, Dean whispered, "Yeah, Sam, I know." Sam seemed to have destroyed his ability to form a coherent thought. So he rocked them together even harder and Sam stopped trying to talk.

And God, Dean wasn't going to last much longer, but he couldn't figure out why that was a bad thing, so he let it go, let the sensations wash over him like a tidal wave, and then Sam was coming too, their mutual orgasms washing away the horror and fear and fucking _wrongness_ until all he could feel was right, and whole.

He collapsed down into Sam's embrace, completely spent, his cheek cradled on Sam's chest.


	14. Chapter 14

Sam hunched over the toilet, muscles tense and stomach clenched, but for once it wasn't the slide of putrid energy through his body making him throw-up. Not that the energy wasn't filling him, wasn't overwhelming, but he didn't have an uncontrollable need to expunge it like he had before. This was just... the thought of going out there, of facing them, of facing _Dean_ , had him assuming the position once more.

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly from the door of the bathroom. Sam jumped slightly and turned so his cheek rested on the porcelain. Dean stood in the doorway, looking bleary and shaky but decidedly not unconscious. That was different. "You okay?" Dean's voice was laced with worry.

"'m fine, Dean," Sam replied, irritation making his voice sound harsh, bile surging up along with the ever-present _need_ he felt for his brother. Dean needed to back the hell off. Just seeing him made the desire that never really went away more real, harder to deal with, and Sam just wanted everything to be fucking normal. He'd never craved _normal_ so badly in his life, but the creature had taken that from him, turned him into a vile thing, just like _it_ was. Something that should be hunted. Something that should be taken out back and shot.

Dean just stood there, watching Sam as if he expected something. Sam's stomach was still filled with vitriol, but throwing up wasn't helping. He flushed the toilet and watched the water swirl away.

"You eat something bad, Sammy?"

Fury swept over Sam, almost stealing his ability to form a coherent response. Dean still _didn't get it_. They'd been living this for weeks - more than a _month_ \- and Dean was still as clueless as ever. He just didn't pay attention, didn't listen, only heard what he wanted to. "No, Dean, this happens every time we fuck!" he snapped out.

 _Just leave me the fuck alone, Dean!_ Sam thought, and Dean suddenly jerked back into the hallway as if he was pushed. _Hard_. Dean stumbled into the wall, a surprised look on his face as the door swung shut so hard the frame actually cracked. Neither one of them had touched it.

Sam scrambled back from it, clutching his head tightly, wanting to be anywhere but here; anyone but him. He heard yelling, realized a moment later that it was him. Felt hands grab at him and suddenly he was fighting back, swinging hard and feeling his hands meet soft flesh hard enough to bruise, to break.

He struggled for all he was worth, but it was no use. He couldn't keep himself from being touched, held down, pinned... and he sobbed out his worthlessness into the cold unforgiving floor of the bathroom.

~o0O0o~

Dean sat next to Sam on the bed, the ice pack that he was supposed to be pressing to his face forgotten next to him. He couldn't quite bring himself to touch Sam, but he couldn't move away either. Bobby'd reassured him that the drugs he'd injected into Sam to knock him out were safe, but you never knew.

He thought about the broken door and shuddered. What the hell had happened? They didn't need any more problems; Sam didn't need anything else making him less than normal...

"Here, take these."

Bobby's rough voice made him jump. He hadn't even noticed the man come in, but there he was, holding out a couple of white pills and some water. Dean took them from Bobby suspiciously, but they were just aspirin. He downed them without comment, handing the glass back when he was done. Bobby turned to leave and, without looking away from his brother, Dean muttered, "Everything I do just seems to make it worse." The older man paused in the doorway. Dean was fucking everything up and they both knew it. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do..."

"Well," Bobby sighed, "you could leave 'im here."

"Bobby," Dean growled, turning towards him, "I am _not_ leaving my brother."

"Okay. You could kill him," he drawled, his voice low and matter-of-fact.

Dean's hands reflexively convulsed into fists. "What the hell, Bobby?"

"Or, you can keep doing the best you can, just like you have been."

"Greeting card psychology isn't going to help here," Dean deadpanned.

"Ain't no magic answers, boy. If there were, we woulda found 'em by now." Bobby stepped toward Dean and placed a heavy hand on his bruised shoulder. It hurt - Sam had beaten the shit out of him before they'd gotten him sedated - but Dean kept himself from moving away. "What happened to Sam is more than either one of us is prepared to deal with, Dean. But unless you want to take him to a shrink, and I think that'd be a colossally bad idea, you're on your own. At least he's alive. Hang on to that. When he wakes up, try to get him to talk. Maybe find a hunt. Try to do something normal for Christ's sake."

Dean opened his mouth to ask Bobby about the door, and found he couldn't do it. He wanted to trust the man, but he'd already admitted he didn't have any answers. Instead, Dean just nodded and turned his attention back to Sam.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean was starting to worry again, his eyes straying from the road to check on his brother every few minutes. It was definitely feeling like Sam had been out too long when he finally shifted and made a pained sound. Dean grabbed the water bottle that'd been sitting on the seat and bumped Sam's arm with it. His brother jerked and looked at Dean groggily.

"Drink this," Dean said, motioning with the bottle again.

"Where we goin'?" Sam slurred out.

"I thought it was time we got back on the road again, Sammy."

"God," Sam moaned, "...feel like crap."

Dean spared a guilty glance at Sam and then forced his focus back to the road. "Drugs'll do that to you," he quipped. "Drink this, you'll feel better," he added, a little more forcefully.

"Drugs?" Sam muttered as he took the bottle and sipped at it tentatively.

Dean dropped his hand back down to rest against his brother's neck, rubbing at it lightly. "Yeah, Bobby had to put you out. You kinda lost it back there."

Sam looked momentarily confused before his eyes latched on to the very colorful bruise that had appeared on Dean's face. "Shit, did I do that?" he asked as he brushed his finger softly over the skin.

Dean pressed into the touch, liking the pleasure-pain it sparked. Sam's hand lingered for a minute before he pulled it back and drank deeply from the water bottle. He turned to look out the window. "Where're we goin'?"

"Simple haunting in Iowa. Thought we'd check it out."

Sammy turned toward him sporting a full-on bitch-face. "What the hell, Dean? We don't have enough to deal with right now so you think we need to be in the middle of a hunt too?"

Dean had to suppress a surge of irritation; why did Sam have to argue about everything? "We certainly weren't accomplishing anything sitting around at Bobby's," he sighed. "You got a better idea, genius?"

Sam gaped at him for a moment, and then shook his head and blinked his eyes a little before slumping back to rest his head against the seat, effectively trapping Dean's hand. The minutes crept by while Dean waited for a response, but Sam was just staring moodily out the side window. Vaguely relieved that the conversation seemed to be over, Dean freed his hand and turned up the music.

That seemed to be Sammy's cue. He turned it back down and said, "At least at Bobby's house we had a chance at finding a solution."

Dean scowled at the tape deck, half tempted to just turn it back up, but giving into Sam seemed to have become his MO. He kept his hand in his lap. "We've been looking for almost five weeks. I don't think there's a solution to find, do you?"

Sam did the whole chin jutting out thing, making himself look petulant. "There has to be."

"Jesus, Sam," Dean swore, exasperated, and pulled over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes and leaving a trail of dust behind them. Sam needed to stop beating himself up over this. Facing him, he asked, "Why does there have to be? We're dealing okay. I don't see the world ending here. You need to get over yourself."

"Get over myself?" Sam repeated, angrily throwing himself out of the car. He took an unsteady step away before his hands jerked out to steady himself and he sagged back against the metal. Dean felt a surge of sympathy. The drugs were pretty clearly still fucking with him.

Out of nowhere, Sam banged a fist into the side of the Impala, hard, and Dean snapped, barreling out of the car and across the hood to grab Sam's fist. "Hey! What'd she ever do to you?"

Sam stared at Dean's hand wrapped around his fist for a minute, then looked at Dean with tightly controlled anger and said, "You're right, this thing between us? It's just _fine_." Sam grimaced and turned away for a moment, composing himself before turning back to face Dean. "No big deal. So, I guess we should probably start trying to find Dad again, huh?"

Dean reeled back, feeling sucker-punched, letting Sam's hand go. "Hell," Sam continued, "I don't think we've tried calling him in weeks. It's worth a shot, right?" Sam pulled out his cell and flipped it open.

Dean felt his universe start up again and he grabbed the damn phone from Sam's hand, hurling it into the bushes. "Fuck you, Sam."

"Oh, so now you have a problem with it?" Sam yelled. "Now that _Dad_ might have a fucking problem with it, now that his opinion of his perfect son might be affected? Now it's not okay?"

Dean's heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. "God, Sammy," Dean sucked in air, trying to get his breathing back under control. "I'm doing the best I can here. I'm trying to make it okay. I'm doing this for you, damn it. Would it kill you to be a little more appreciative?"

Sam stared at him, a stunned expression on his face. "Appreciative?" his voice was cold, caught between incredulity and fury, "Is that what I should be Dean? What, because you're God's gift?"

And yeah, now that Sammy was saying it, it sounded like maybe that was kind of a stupid thing to say. Sam's needs filled so much of Dean's world lately that he hadn't really been thinking that much about Sam's _wants_. And besides, most of the time it did seem like Sam wanted it. Dean opened his mouth but couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, so this time he shut up.

Sam turned and stumbled over to the bushes, looking for his phone. Dean watched him find it, but then Sam just sat there staring at it. It took a few minutes for Dean to realize his brother's shoulders were shaking, to move over and crouch next to him, to take his brother into his arms.

Sam didn't push him away, just sat shaking in Dean's arms, and Dean thought he might - hell, both of them might - shatter right out there on the side of the road. "I don't think I can do this, Dean," Sam breathed out, almost too softly for Dean to hear. "I can't keep hurting you like... like I was hurt."

"What? Sam... that was completely different."

"How, Dean? How was that different?"

"You were a victim... still are a victim... and I'm consenting here. You weren't."

Dean felt Sam stiffen in his arms, "You aren't consenting, Dean, you just don't feel like you have any choice. You're just as much of a victim here as I am."

Dean started to protest but he felt Sam shift in his arms. "Let me go, Dean. Go find Dad." Sam's voice was shaky, just like his body. "I'll go back to Bobby's. You'll be fine."

Dean clutched Sam tighter. "Dude, you're like a broken record. I'm not going anywhere. I wasn't _fine_ when you were at Stanford, and I won't be _fine_ if you're gone again, either. Besides, you need me too much."

"You aren't listening, Dean. I can't do this anymore." Sam closed his eyes in pain. "I need this... I just... If there isn't a solution, maybe it'd be better if I was... dead..." Sam's voice was raspy, almost unintelligible, but Dean made it out clearly enough.

"You selfish _Son of a Bitch!_ " he growled out and before he'd fully processed what he was doing his fist was moving in a forceful arc, meeting Sam's chin in a painful thwack and laying Sam flat.

Dean got up and moved away, back towards the comfort of the Impala. He braced his hands against her roof, trying to get himself under control, but it wasn't really working and he slammed his own fist down onto the sun-warmed black metal. He hit her a couple more times for good measure before he could force himself to face Sam again.

He turned around to find Sam still lying in the grass. He hadn't moved - he was still in the same position Dean'd left him in.

Dean strode back to Sam and grabbed him, pulled him up so he could look him in the face. Sam couldn't even meet his eyes. He looked so broken, so defeated, and Dean just didn't know what to do anymore. Maybe this FUBAR situation wasn't gonna be possible to fix. _Shit, and he'd hauled off and hit him._ "I'm sorry," Dean said quietly. "Maybe I'm the selfish one... but I can't lose you, Sammy, I can't. Don't you get that? Compared to that, the sex is nothing. It's _nothing_."

Sam reached out a hand and wrapped it around Dean's neck, pulling him in to press their lips together in a solid, desperate kiss. He kept his hand wrapped around Dean's neck as he pulled back just a little. "I just don't know who I am anymore, Dean." Sam whispered, his wide eyes inching up to lock with Dean's. "I look at myself in the mirror, and I don't recognize the person staring back at me."

Dean didn't know what the hell to say to that, so they just sat there staring at each other. He wondered if it meant there was something wrong with him that he wasn't more fucked up over this, but all he wanted was to hold on to Sam and never let him go. Sam was all he'd ever had, all he ever would have, and, well... that probably was pretty fucked up, but...

He forcefully cut off his thoughts. "Come on Sammy," he stood and offered his brother a hand, "Whatever we do, we're figuring it out together, so move your sorry ass back to the car - we've got a hunt to do."

Sam ignored his hand, so Dean walked back to the car and got in. He managed to hide his smirk when Sammy joined him with a sigh a couple of minutes later.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam nudged the door open, juggling the coffees and the bag of donuts he'd picked up for Dean. The sight of the single king sized bed in the room made him pause slightly, just like it had every other time he'd walked into the room since they'd arrived in town a couple of weeks ago.

Dean was still crashed out on the bed, but he woke at the sound of the door and looked up blearily. Sam tossed the donuts on a table and brought the coffee over, waving the cup under his brother's nose. Dean moaned appreciatively at the smell and sat up, grabbing gracelessly at the Styrofoam. It'd been another late night, the latest salt and burn at the cemetery had kept them out until nearly dawn, and it was now early afternoon. The quick, easy hunt they'd expected when they started this was turning out to be anything but straight-forward.

"Didn't even hear you get up," Dean muttered as he sipped at the hot coffee.

"You twitched, but I don't think you were awake enough to remember." Plus, Sam'd been up for hours; in the week since the drugs Bobby'd dosed him with had worn off, he been on an energy high he hadn't been able to shake. Sleep had been pretty elusive since then, the energy riding him relentlessly, not even subject to the ebb and flow that'd been present in the beginning because Dean kept _pushing_... running and workouts were no match for the constant recharge the curse was getting, and even drinking himself stupid hadn't helped much.

"Yeah, well, thanks for this, man," Dean replied, gesturing with the cup.

Dean seemed so convinced he was making it better that Sam hadn't been able to make himself bring up the problem. At least Dean didn't pass out after the sex anymore like he used to. That was a definite improvement, and worth dealing with a little bit of the jitters. He needed to just suck it up.

Sam looked levelly at his brother and took a deep breath, bracing himself to deliver the bad news he'd overheard. They'd thought they were done with this hunt; Dean wasn't going to be happy. "While I was getting the stuff, I heard some talk in town..." Dean looked up at Sam's pause with narrowed eyes. "Another kid went missing this morning. We didn't get it."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean stood and, for a second, Sam thought he was going to throw the coffee cup across the room. For all that Dean kept insisting that he was dealing with everything that had happened between them, he'd been taking every setback in this case like a personal failure. Dean crossed to the window instead, taking a long drink before pulling the curtain aside to look out.

Nearly naked, Dean was illuminated by the soft light coming in through the window. He was beautiful, all hard lines and fierce strength. Not so long ago, Sam never would have noticed. He wondered if there was anyone out there to see Dean standing in nothing but his boxers, and felt a shiver of jealousy crawl over him.

He exhaled sharply through his nose in disgust and forced his mind back to the more pressing issue. The newest victim was the sister of the first missing girl, the one they'd originally come here for and failed to save. If they didn't figure this out soon, she would make the fourth death since they'd arrived. They'd met this girl their first day here when they'd interviewed her about her sister - a fourteen year old with long blond hair who'd been fiercely adamant that her sister would be found - and that somehow made it all worse, made it more real. Sam forced the words out, "Dean, the new girl... it's Megan Saunders."

Sam watched the muscles in Dean's back tighten even more, but he didn't turn, didn't react beyond that, and Sam ached for him.

"Look, I think we should go back to the school, back to the basement," Sam said, a little desperately. "I think we missed something."

"What'd we miss, Sam?" Dean said, still staring out the window, his voice tired and frustrated. "We found jack shit when we went there before. The EMF didn't even blip."

"I just... something felt off. I can't explain it," Sam replied, arching an eyebrow when Dean turned to look at him. "You got a better idea? I'm all ears."

Dean leaned against the wall, finally letting the drape fall closed, and something in Sam relaxed slightly. "Something felt _off_?" Dean demanded. "What does that mean?"

"I thought... I don't know... something wasn't right."

"And you didn't say anything about this before because..." Dean's accusing tone was making Sam uneasy. He knew Dean wasn't as comfortable about his growing powers as he claimed.

"I... figured you'd just give me shit about being creeped out by a kid's murder, and besides, I wasn't... if I'm wrong..."

"If you're wrong, another kid dies while we dick around." Dean banged his head back against the wall next to the window as he sighed, the desire for confrontation bleeding out of him as quickly as it had arrived. "Well, I think we're just about out of other things to try at this point. We can't go for another couple hours though, too many kids and teachers around right now."

Sam grabbed the laptop and sat on the bed with a sigh. A moment later, Dean was pulling it out of his hands and setting it to the side. "Not what I had in mind, Sammy."

Dean brushed their lips together, but Sam pushed him back. "Dean, we can't... the hunt..."

"'s'been more'n 24 hours, Sammy," Dean cut him off, pressing his lips back against Sam's. "'s better this way. You're still you when we don't wait too long."

Sam tensed. He didn't think he was _him_ no matter when they did this. Dean pressed his fingers firmly into the tight muscles around Sam's neck, coaxing him to relax, and when his tongue sought admittance, Sam opened up despite himself.

Dean climbed onto the bed, resting knees on either side of Sam's legs, straddling him tightly. He caressed Sam's tongue with his own, warmed and flavored with the taste of coffee, and Sam felt the familiar flush of arousal filling him. It never took much. Sam always felt like he was two different people in these initial moments: one who looked on in horror while the other melted under the attention. The disconnect made him feel more than a little bit crazy.

Dean slipped his hands down Sam's back and then up under Sam's hoodie to run callused fingers over the muscles underneath, all the while continuing the possessive kiss. Sam relaxed slightly under the firm touch, melting a little as Dean pressed small circles into his skin. He ran his hands up and then down, coming teasingly close to the top of Sam's boxers, repeating the motion again and again, each time getting a little further down, and finally slipping down below the line to press into the cheeks of Sam's ass, making Sam groan and give in completely, their kiss deepening until it was hard to tell who was claiming who.

Sam wrapped his hands around Dean's face and pulled him in tighter, taking control of the kiss while Dean continued to stroke his ass. Sam was still present, still aware. He had been every time since they'd started having sex every day instead of waiting until it couldn't be avoided. Dean was right on one level: it _was_ better when he was more aware, but he knew that when they were done he'd hate himself just a little bit more for letting it happen this way, for giving in when he wasn't backed into the corner, unable to say no.

He needed this time to be different.

He pulled Dean's face away from his own, just enough so that he could look into Dean's eyes. "You should fuck me, this time," Sam said.

Surprise colored Dean's face for a moment and Sam pulled him back in, covering Dean's mouth with his own before Dean could say anything. Sam was a little surprised himself, he hadn't really thought about the words before he said them, but he really didn't think he could stand to hear Dean's sarcastic response.

Sam ravaged Dean's mouth and his need grew, their tongues dancing together as he pulled Dean ever closer. He wrapped his arms around Dean's body, pulling him in tight, but he still couldn't get close enough. "Need you, Dean. Please..."

Dean reacted by pushing Sam back enough to pull Sam's hoodie off and that broke them completely apart. Sam groaned in frustration. It was getting a bit hard to think, the arousal riding him hard, but Dean took over, pulling Sam's clothes off before sliding his own boxers down, revealing his interest in the proceedings. Dean grabbed the bottle off the nightstand and pushed Sam back onto the bed, pulling one of Sam's legs up onto his shoulder. Sam grabbed for Dean and pulled him down, covering himself with Dean like a blanket.

Dean moved gently on top of Sam, their arms wrapped around each other in a mutual embrace, the feel of Dean's body sliding against Sam's filling Sam with almost uncontrollable pleasure. Dean's hands were back at his ass, and then his fingers slipped down until one pressed into the crease and started to push in. Dean's finger felt slick -Sam hadn't even noticed when Dean stopped to do that - and it slipped almost easily into Sam's body.

Sam found himself tensing, anxiety rearing up out of nowhere, climbing along his nerves. Dean pressed a kiss to the side of Sam's mouth, whispering at him to relax, but it didn't help, and then Dean's finger slipped in deeper... and suddenly Sam couldn't get enough air.

 _The gag is back, so thick it doesn't completely fit in Sam's mouth and it presses up against his nose. He knows that the longer it's in, the wetter it will get, and the harder it will be to breathe. He's been through this before. He can't move. The creature's weight has him pinned. Despair grips him, though he tries to push it away. He needs Dean, cries out for his brother in his mind, but Dean doesn't come, he can't come..._

 _He's trapped. There's nothing he can do to get away. Sam feels his dick, heavy and hot, trapped between their bodies, and he feels a lance of burning shame spike through his chest. He barely fought at all this time, and already he's giving in. He opens his legs and wraps them around the creature, his body making room for the coming intrusion even as helpless tears slip down his face and run into his hair._

 _He feels the thing's warm, humid breath next to his ear, "You're so pretty when you cry, Samuel..."_

 __

"Sam!" Dean's hands were wrapped around his head, shaking him firmly and demanding his attention.

This was _Dean_... Sam took in a gasping breath. _Just Dean_.

"Dean?" he whispered between frantic breaths.

"Yeah Sammy, it's me. Not gonna hurt you, okay? Just breathe."

Sam struggled to do what Dean suggested, gulping in long stuttering breaths. His brother curled protectively around him, pulling Sam's head against his chest tightly. Several minutes passed as Sam fought to calm himself and gradually he became aware of Dean's almost frantic whispers against his hair, "I'm so sorry, Sammy, God, I'm so sorry..."

"Dean, what... what are you apologizing for?" Sam mumbled into Dean's chest. "This isn't your fault, man... I told you to do it - it's my own stupid fault for panicking."

He felt Dean shudder against him. "All of this is my fault, Sammy; I'm the one who let it happen..."

Sam gave a wet snort and felt embarrassed when he realized what a mess his face was. He'd covered his brother's chest with snot and tears. _He was so pathetic._ He inched his arms around Dean's waist and pulled in closer. "Dean... I'm the one who went with the creature. I didn't even fight. It told me to come and I just... did. You're the one who _fixed_ everything..."

He shivered, suddenly cold, and Dean let go of him just long enough to pull the covers over them both. They burrowed under the covers together, as if, somehow, the darkness would make their shameful confessions less real.

Dean's musky smell was stronger, trapped under the covers, and Sam realized with a start that somehow his own dick was still hard, almost painfully so. He felt warm and safe, his fear slipping away as they held each other. He shifted a little, letting his dick slide against Dean's skin. He still needed this, needed something to distract himself from the painful memories of what had happened, needed to just not think anymore.

He inched down until his face was pressing into Dean's stomach. Dean's hands were still threaded through Sam's hair, but he didn't prevent Sam from moving down to where he wanted to be. He rubbed his face against Dean's strong abdominal muscles, breathing him in, and then he just kept moving down until his lips were pressing into the bend between Dean's hip and thigh. It felt good here, and Sam let the scent of his brother envelop him like another blanket.

Unlike Sam, Dean hadn't managed to hold on to his erection. Sam nuzzled into the soft skin, slipping over it with lips and tongue, pressing in soft little nips with his teeth, enjoying the taste and feel. He ran his tongue over the slit, pressing in a little and Dean bucked slightly and moaned, his cock responding to the attention. "Sammy?" Dean questioned, concern and need intertwined in his voice.

"I just need to know you're here, Dean... show me you're here. Please?" Sam pleaded. He didn't wait for a response, just wrapped his mouth around Dean and swallowed him down.

Dean groaned and his dick swelled in Sam's mouth. Sam tried to swallow around it, wanting and needing to make his brother feel good. He could sense the memories of what the creature had made him do hovering just under the surface, but they weren't strong enough to overcome the need this time, and this was _Dean_ , and his need for Dean was so much stronger than any fear.

He needed to feel him, everywhere. Needed to ground himself in his brother's touch and smell and skin, needed all of him if there was ever going to be any chance he might be whole again... and... maybe the fucking creature had miscalculated. A tiny spark of hope flared through him at the thought, and in that moment, snug against his brother, Sam dared to let it burn. Maybe the curse the creature had expected to destroy him would be the thing that would actually be what pulled him through in the end.

Dean trembled with the effort not to push into Sam's mouth and he finally pulled Sam off with a groan. "Want you inside me. Can you do that, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice almost a whine. Dean's left hand was still wrapped in Sam's hair, holding him away from Dean's dick, his other was slick when he grabbed Sam's hand and he rubbed them together before guiding Sam's hand to his ass.

Sam pressed in; the last couple of weeks had left Dean open and easily breached. Briefly, he considered the idea of moving up to do what Dean had asked for, but he couldn't stomach the idea of moving away from Dean's center, so he pushed another finger in, pushing them in deep enough to find Dean's prostate, causing Dean to suck in an appreciative breath.

He wrapped his mouth around the head of Dean's cock, sliding slowly down, tracing the veins and valleys with his tongue as he moved, all the while pressing little circles with his fingers against Dean's sweet spot.

Way too soon, Dean was coming down Sam's throat with a loud cry. He felt the familiar influx of energy fill him as he swallowed rapidly, desperate to keep up, until he couldn't any more, and he felt his own orgasm rip through him, leaving him feeling wrung out and spent.

He smiled as he resumed licking over Dean's spent cock, teasing the sensitive skin as it shrunk back down to where they had started, until Dean pushed him away with a whimper. Sam climbed back up Dean's body until he was cradled against Dean's chest once more, and Dean pulled him in tightly.

"Never gonna let you go again," Dean whispered so quietly that Sam almost wondered if he'd imagined it.


	17. Chapter 17

Sam stood in the middle of the cluttered basement boiler room, trying to figure out what was making him feel so on edge every time they came here. It was hotter than sin down here; the old boiler was fairly well insulated, but the venting was for crap and so, with nowhere to go, the heat just built up.

Failing to notice anything unusual, he stopped turning in useless circles to watch Dean. He was next to the door, picking through the cleaning supplies and old abandoned tools on the rusted shelves that lined the walls, waving around the silent EMF reader with frustrated movements. "I don't know," Dean groused, turning to throw a skeptical glance Sam's way, "it's gotta be the teacher. Maybe they sent a piece of him to a lab somewhere to figure out why he was such a sick fuck, and that's somehow keeping him anchored here..."

"It wasn't the teacher," Sam replied firmly.

Dean looked surprised, "And you suddenly know this because..."

"It's..." Sam shut his mouth. He had no idea why he was suddenly so completely sure about this, either.

"Gotta be the teacher, Sammy," Dean continued into the silence. "He got greased down here in the basement by the kid he was abusing, but she's still alive to tell the tale. Until this latest spree, that's the only death that's ever been associated with this school, and the EMF picked up at the other murder sites, even if it wasn't very strong. Angry sick ghost equals dead kids. Case closed," he finished, throwing down a broken broom at Sam's feet with a flourish.

"Then why are kids still going missing, Dean?" Sam picked up the broom and leaned it against the boiler behind him, before turning back. "We burned the bastard's bones down to nothing."

Dean just scowled in response and Sam turned away from him again, towards the boiler. It was something about the boiler, or, maybe not the boiler exactly... He walked around to peer at the wall behind it, and felt sweat slide down the side of his face as he moved along the wall. Dean walked over to watch him unhelpfully, leaning against the wall to the left of the boiler, and Sam ignored him, running his hands over the warm brick, searching for something... he just wasn't sure what.

He was just about to give up and tell Dean they could go when he felt his finger catch on a slight ridge in the filthy wall. He glanced at Dean with a raised brow and Dean took a step forward, but it wasn't visible and Dean just shook his head at him. Sam ran his fingers lightly over it, tracing it to the side and then down to the ground. He felt his heart rate pick up and he quickly stood, put his back to the wall and kicked back against it, hard, causing a small section to collapse in.

"Shit," Dean muttered, surprised.

Sam knelt back down and pulled the bricks out. He shined his flashlight in and illuminated small, adolescent-sized bones. Shit, that teacher must have had another victim, and this one had never been found. He inhaled sharply at the realization, causing Dean to crouch down and ask, "What'd you find?"

The EMF came alive at that moment, the high pitched sound causing both of them go into a fighting stance and then, just as suddenly, they were both flying through the air to slam painfully into the shelves lining the walls to the left. Old paint buckets and tools went clattering loudly down to the floor and the screaming EMF meter hit with a shattering crunch and went silent. Sam spared a moment of gratitude that they weren't pinned to the boiler - they'd been just far enough to the left to miss it.

The soft sounds of a child's gagged screams echoed through the room, and Sam turned his head to discover Megan tied up on the ground on the far right side of the room, in the little corner next to the door. _Shit, how the fuck had he missed her there?_

 __

Out of nowhere, the image of a naked and beaten girl, probably the same age as Megan, appeared and flickered across the room towards Dean, who was struggling for all he was worth against the force that had them both pinned, but it wasn't getting him anywhere. The girl looked up at his brother, absolute hatred and fury burning in her eyes, and she screamed, "You didn't come!"

Dean flinched back from her, but he kept struggling, yelling with the effort, while Sam desperately tried to come up with a plan that would help them. He looked at Megan, wondering if he could get her to help, but she was tied up as well as gagged, and she didn't look like she was in very good shape regardless.

Dean managed to take a step away from the wall towards the ghost, no... he was moving towards Megan; he was ignoring the ghost. He took another, and it looked like he was moving through molasses, but at least he was making progress, and Sam wasn't coming up with a better plan, so he started struggling too, hoping he could make it to the bones in time.

He blinked and the ghost had a leg on either side of Megan, one hand was wrapped around the girl's throat, and the other held a long jagged shard of glass. The ghost laughed cruelly and moved the glass down over the girl's neck, pressing in enough to draw blood. Dean's yell drowned out the sounds of the girl's panicked distress behind the gag, and Sam could see Dean's determination to reach the girl increasing with the level of his fear for her, and somehow he kept moving slowly forward.

The ghost continued to drag the glass over the girl's skin, laughing while she did it, keeping the cuts shallow, just enough to hurt like hell, not enough to kill. Dean was almost there, Sam closing in on the bones just a few steps behind, when the ghost looked back up at them.

"Too late!" she screeched, "Always too late!"

The ghost plunged the glass deep into Megan's neck and she jerked slightly, a strangled sound escaping before she stilled, her face slipping towards grey.

Still unable to move, Sam watched helplessly as Dean sagged to his knees, all the fight draining out of him. Suddenly the spirit lunged at Dean, wrapping her body around him, pressing the bloody glass against his neck

"Nobody ever tried to help **_me_** __!" she shouted into Dean's defeated face.

"No!" Sam shouted, his panic surging, and the energy that had been a constant presence for weeks surged right along with it, filling him up until he didn't think he could contain it anymore, causing Sam to yell out in pain. It burst out of him, searching for a target, reaching out until it latched onto the spirit, enveloping her. The ghost screamed and let go of Dean to fix her crazy stare on Sam, but it held her in place, and he poured out even more power to wrap around her.

He felt it all emptying out, and the uncomfortable high that had been riding him for days left with it, leaving him feeling almost giddy with relief. Dean's hand was cupped around his own neck, and bright red blood trickled through his fingers. Sam felt his panic morph into rage and he instinctively pressed down with the intent to destroy... and with a loud popping noise, the ghost was gone. The force that had been keeping them in place was gone in the same instant.

The room fell abruptly still and Sam sagged to his knees, his chest tight; this was so much bigger than precognition and some telekinesis, and he didn't know what it all meant, didn't know if the curse was fueling his new powers or causing them. His gaze met Dean's, and that seemed to break the reflective moment for both of them.

Sam rushed forward to grab Dean, intent on inspecting his neck for injuries, but Dean pulled away, his face a mask, his attention entirely on the dead girl. Dean reached an unsteady hand out and rested it against the girl's face. Her neck was a bloody mess, and Sam knew instantly that there was no way that she had survived the attack, so he fussed over Dean instead. Finding nothing more than a few relatively shallow cuts, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Shit, Sammy," Dean asked, his voice husky with emotion, "What the fuck just happened?"

Sam shook his head and squeezed Dean's shoulder, bracing himself to stand and move off wearily back behind the boiler; they needed to deal with the bones before the ghost came back. All things considered, it was definitely a good tired; that sick slide of energy was almost gone and the omnipresent jitters were absent for the first time in weeks. He might actually be able to sleep for more than a couple of hours tonight.

He shined his light into the small hole in the wall and sucked in a startled gasp; the girl's bones had already been reduced to dust.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean slammed the phone back on the hook and exited the old payphone booth, swinging himself back into the Impala gracefully and flooring the gas. He'd driven to the next town before calling the police, but they still needed to be farther down the road when Megan's body was found. Police investigations were always more thorough when kids were involved.

He spared a glance at Sam, who was crashed out next to him, his big head lolling against the back of the seat. His brother had been too tired to even help load the car and Dean'd had to do it all himself. Not that that was really a big deal, but... he didn't like it. Whatever Sam had done to that ghost had seriously drained him, and when he'd asked Sam to tell him what he'd done, all he'd gotten was a blank look.

Sam shifted restlessly and moaned a little, and Dean sent a worried look his brother's way. "No..." Sam whispered.

Dean suddenly found himself shaking so bad that he had to pull off the side of the road. Sam whimpered again and Dean put a hand out against Sam's shoulder to shake him awake. Sam flinched away, curling himself into a protective ball in the corner of the seat next to the door, and Dean couldn't take it anymore, hurling himself out of the Impala and into the cold night air. He slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to stop the shaking that was taking over his body.

He could still hear Sam whimpering in the car, his sleep undisturbed by Dean's hasty exit. He moved his hands up, covering his ears to block out his brother's sounds. Megan's face, streaked with tears, large eyes begging him for help, flashed through his thoughts. The light in her eyes had died when the glass had sunk into her neck.

One more victim he'd failed to save.

His vision blurred and he slid down against the side of his car until his ass hit the dirt, and he rested his head back against her solid body. It was quiet this time of night, almost no cars on the road, and the angle he'd thoughtlessly parked the car at shielded him from the view of anyone who might come along. The wind was cold and biting, and the pain felt good, felt right. It felt deserved. But it wasn't enough... He needed...

Sam cried out in his sleep, the sound hopeless and lost. Not a sound that any adult should ever make, especially not Sammy. That was his fuck up. Something sure had to be fucked up with him, because lately? He'd even been looking forward to having sex with his little brother. And he wasn't even... He slammed a fist against the ground, let the dirt and gravel tear at his skin. He needed...

Another sound from Sammy ripped his soul out, and he found himself sobbing into the darkness, his head pressed tight against his knees, his hands gripped tightly around his legs and he rocked forward a little, trying to push all of his thoughts out of his head... he pressed his hand harder into the ground, letting the gravel cut deeper. He needed the hurt... or to hurt... something...

"Dean?" Sam's voice was verging on panic.

 _Shit_. "Yeah, Sammy," Dean called out, leaping up. "I'm here." He opened the car door and leaned in.

Sam looked at him blearily. "You okay, Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, dude. Just had to take a piss. Go back to sleep."

"I think I could," Sam muttered, sounding a little surprised. He dropped his head back against the seat and shut his eyes.

Dean slid into the driver's seat, draped his arm across the back of the seat and stroked his fingers absently through Sam's hair. He started the car, and drove.

  


  


~o0O0o~

The closed laptop sat on the dingy table but Sam couldn't bring himself to look at it. He hadn't even stayed asleep for 30 minutes before he was awake and pacing the room. Fifteen minutes later he was ready to go to the bar and drag Dean back. Not for sex, just... He forced himself to sit on the bed, but only managed to stay there for a minute before he was trying to wear a hole in the carpet again.

This wasn't working; he needed to leave. He moved for the door, only to bring himself up short. He grabbed the handle instead and rested his forehead against the cheap wood. He slammed his hand against it and the noise was loud in the empty room. _Damn it._

Dean had asked him to go, but he'd been too exhausted... he should have just gone anyway, but he wasn't sure Dean had really meant the invite. Sam hadn't been too tired to miss the faint look of relief that'd crossed his brother's face when Sam had said no.

Dean should be able to go out and get a few drinks without him once in a while. It's not like they were _married_.

He couldn't stay in the room anymore. He grabbed his key off the table where Dean had thrown it next to the laptop and went outside to get some air. Dean had taken the car, of course, and the motel was in the middle of nowhere, so he just leaned back against the door. It was cold out, but it felt good after the stifling air in the room.

He moved out to the edge of the road. It was quiet, no traffic to mar the peacefulness of the night.

He could use a drink himself.

It's not like he couldn't do that, just because he'd been too tired earlier. He was allowed to change his mind.

 _Shit_ , he really _was_ a girl. He turned to go back to the room, taking several steps before he stopped, anxiety starting to dig a dark pit in his stomach. He didn't even know what fucking bar Dean'd gone to, didn't even know what direction to go, let alone how far away it was... and it didn't matter.

He closed his eyes, took a long breath, told himself once more that he really should just go back in the room, and found himself moving off to the east. He walked at first, not stopping to analyze why he'd picked left instead of right, arguing silently with himself that he was just stretching his legs. A passing car had him nearly jumping out of his skin, but it wasn't fear for himself that had him so damn jittery.

This was so stupid. Dean was fine. His brother could take care of himself. He certainly didn't need Sam checking on him like he was a child. He'd just gone out to hit the bars...

Sam started jogging.

It occurred to him that he could be running in the wrong direction, and his stomach did an uncomfortable summersault. This was the way. It had to be. He was certain of it. He picked up his pace.

 _Shit, Dean, be okay. Be okay. You have to be okay._

His fast jog turned into a full out run.

It was an agonizing full thirty minutes later when he ran up to the entrance of a run-down bar. He let himself pause just long enough to suck in a few lung-fulls of air, his body trembling with the effort it was taking to keep the fear at manageable levels.

He didn't see the Impala, and he didn't have time to look for it, but this was definitely Dean's kind of place. Full-blown, irrational panic pounded in his head. Except... maybe it wasn't so irrational. Dean was in trouble, he fucking _knew_ it.

He pushed in the doors and strode into the dark, smoky bar, but the place was quiet, the pool table in the back unattended, the few patrons sitting alone and nursing their drinks in silence.

Dean wasn't here.

 _But this was the place._

He walked up to the bar and cleared his throat to get the bartender's attention. The man ignored him, continuing to stock or whatever it was he was doing. "Excuse me," Sam said, his voice coming out in a deep, threatening growl.

The bartender looked up, annoyed. "What?"

"'M looking for my brother. Couple inches shorter than me, freckles... you seen him?"

Sam caught the quick nervous glance the bartender threw towards the rear exit before he replied with a short, "Nope."

Sam didn't bother with a reply, just turned and ran out the back and into the dimly lit alley.

Three muscled slobs surrounded his brother, a fourth pinning him to the wall, one arm pressed against Dean's neck, the other pulling back for another hit. Sam didn't even fully register the glint of metal in the man's hand before he was moving, catching the knife in his own grip and slamming the asshole into the ground.

Sam pulled back, forcefully breaking the downed man's arm before turning around and catching the one rushing him with a foot to the gut. The man staggered backwards and Sam pulled his gun, his finger tightening on the trigger, just shy of shooting, and he shook with the effort it took not to blow the fucker away. "Get the hell out of here!" he yelled, voice laced with hate and darkness.

He didn't bother watching the cowards run off; just hauled up the whining man he'd pinned and shoved him after the rest before finally turning his full attention to his brother.

Dean had slipped down the wall in a graceless heap and he looked like he'd gotten the shit kicked out of him. "What the fuck, Dean?" Sam muttered under his breath as he bent down and started checking for injuries.

Dean's face was a bloody mess, and his breath was wheezing shallowly in and out. Sam ran his hands gently down the side of Dean's face, trying to figure out where all the blood was coming from. His brother groaned, his eyes fluttering open. "What're you doin' here?" Dean slurred.

"Saving your ass, apparently," Sam replied, stripping off his over-shirt and pressing it against the side of Dean's head where the blood appeared to be coming from. "Here, can you stand up? I gotta get you back to the motel."

"Yeah, yeah, 'm 'k, Sammy," Dean muttered, reaching up a bloody hand to touch Sam's face, but he didn't stand up. A heartbeat later, his hand fell back down and his eyes fluttered shut once more.

"Dean..." Sam said anxiously as he gave Dean's shoulder a slight shake. Dean didn't react. The blood was continuing to flow down the side of his face, but Sam couldn't see for shit in the dim light. "Dean... Dean, come on man, don't do this to me."

Sam's didn't think, just pulled out his cell to call 911. His hands were shaking so bad it took two tries to hit the right numbers.

"Nine-one-one, can you state the nature of your emergency?" a female voice asked.

"It's my brother; he's been beaten up pretty severely." Sam's voice cracked at the end, and he pulled Dean into his lap to cradle his head and upper body protectively. He caught the phone against his shoulder and wrapped his arms around his brother, and then pressed a finger against Dean's pulse. It was barely there. The shirt he still held firmly against Dean's head was getting saturated with blood. He felt a drop trickle down the side of his arm. The pressure wasn't helping.

"Come on Dean, don't do this. You can't leave me. Please. I can't do this without you," he begged.

"Sir, you need to stay calm. Can you tell me where you are?"

"I'm in an alley, behind..." Sam wracked his brain, trying to remember what the fucking place was called, if he'd even _noticed_ , in his hurry to find Dean. "...Willies, yeah. It's Willies. I don't know the damn address. It's a bar. Please, you need to get here fast."

"It's alright, sir. You're doing fine," the voice was calm, almost detached sounding. Irrationally, Sam wanted to hurt her. Wished it was this nameless woman lying on the ground instead of his brother. "Just stay on the phone, sir. They should be able to find you..."

Sam let the phone fall to the dirty pavement and curled himself gently around his brother, adjusting him so he could press his forehead against Dean's. He rocked his body gently as he whispered pleas and bargains against Dean's lips, willing him to hold on until help could get there. His focus narrowed, until all he was aware of was Dean, and holding him _here_.

He wasn't even aware when the ambulance pulled up.

~o0O0o~

"Sir? Sir, you need to move back..."

 _Thump... Thump..._

 _The sound vibrated through his body, slow, steady... reassuring..._

"...blood loss... shock..."

 _Thump thump... thump thump..._

 _Dean was going to be okay. Had to be okay... the doctors would fix it..._

"Sir! Please... you need to..."

 _A strong hand tried to pry his own from Dean's, and anger flared through Sam. He lashed out with a snarl, but then brought his attention immediately back to his brother, cradling Dean's arm against his chest like a lifeline. Thumpthump thumpthump... it was strong and getting faster. Sam let the sound wash over him, tried to let it drown out everything else._

"...heart-beat's tachy..."

 _Thumpthumpthumpthump..._

 _And then abruptly... Silence._

The squeal of an alarm pierced the fog Sam was in and sharp pain radiated out from the middle of his chest. He was squeezed into an ambulance, Dean lying next to him, pale as death, with lines and tubes and bloody bandages everywhere.

"Patient's asystole," the medic announced and then turned to Sam. The man put his hand on Sam's shoulder and shook him as he yelled, "Shit, sir, you need to move back!" He flushed and panic filled him as he realized he'd been in the man's way, the man who was clearly trying to save Dean's life. He scrambled back, his vision blurring, and the man breathed out a relieved sigh as he began compressions.

 _Chest compressions._

Dean's heart wasn't beating.

Sam watched helplessly, his gaze fixed on Dean as the man worked on him. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen... not over some stupid bar fight.

Other than the rough movements caused by the chest compressions, Dean was still. There was a hole in Sam's chest where his brother should be; that constant awareness of Dean that he hadn't even really been aware of, but that had been his companion for months, had been ripped away.

With nothing he could do, his eyes tracked to the monitor with the flat line running though it. He willed it to beep while the paramedic shouted unintelligible things to the driver of the ambulance. Why the hell hadn't he decided to study medicine at Stanford?

The vehicle lurched to a stop and the doors flew open. People pulled out the stretcher that Dean was on, and the medic jumped on to the stretcher with him, straddling his body as he continued his efforts, breathlessly calling out Dean's status to the doctors around him.

They disappeared through a set of double doors and Sam desperately tried to follow, but two nurses grabbed hold of him and pulled him to a stop.

One of the women reached up and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "Sir, please, let the physicians help him. Can you tell us what happened? What's your name, sir?"

Sam looked at the concerned face in front of him and felt hot tears well up, "That's my brother, Dean," he gasped out, his voice cracking. "He was attacked. Please, you have to help him."

"Dean's in good hands," the nurse said, her voice oozing sympathy. "What's your name?"

"Sam," he muttered, taking a step toward the doors they'd taken Dean through. "Please, I need to be with him."

The nurse grabbed hold of his hand before he got far, pulling his attention back with a sharp, "Sam, is there anything your brother is allergic to? Anything that will help us treat him better? Anything in his medical history that we need to be aware of?"

 _Other than his heart not beating?_ Sam forced himself to bite back the angry retort, and took another step toward the door as he replied, "No. Nothing."

The nurse stepped back in front of him, forcing him to stop before he ran into her. "Is he on any medication? Is he under the influence of anything?"

"No!" he replied angrily. "He was attacked. He..." Sam took a deep breath in and let it out shakily, "He was probably drinking, but that's all. Dean doesn't do drugs."

Doesn't, not _didn't_.

A couple of tears slipped down his face and he angrily swatted them away. "Please," he begged, not caring what he sounded like. He just needed to see Dean again, needed to be with him. "Please, can you just show me where they took him?"

Compassion softened the nurse's features once more, and she replied, "Okay, but you have to stay calm. Stay out of the way and let the doctors work. In the meantime, I'm going to..."

And just like that, _Dean_ flooded through him again. Sam let out a relieved sob, the rest of the nurse's words lost, but it didn't really matter anyway because she just turned and headed through the doors like nothing had happened. Sam pushed past her, practically running down the corridor to the room he knew instinctively his brother was in.

Sam barely paused before throwing open one of the double doors and stepping into the room... and into chaos. A couple of doctors and nurses worked over Dean, and it seemed like there was blood everywhere. Sam's breath caught in his throat and he moved forward jerkily, pushing past one of the doctors to grab Dean's limp hand.

Dimly, he thought he heard a man yell, "Get him the hell out of here!" but his focus was solely on Dean. He was breathing. He was _breathing_.

He felt someone grab his arms and spin him around with surprising force; it was the nurse from before. "Let them work, Sam. You'll only get in their way. Why don't we step outside, and you can watch through the window."

He jerked away to turn back to his brother, and noticed the doctor he'd shoved out of the way backing off, hands raised. _Fuck_. "Yeah, okay," Sam muttered, letting the woman steer him backwards out of the room.

The nurse left him in the hall and the minutes crept by with agonizing slowness. Sam tried to console himself with the knowledge that he'd _know_ if Dean suddenly took a turn for the worse, but despite everything that had happened, he still only half believed it, so it didn't help much. Eventually he leaned back against the opposite wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

A silent prayer slipped past his lips, a helpless plea to make everything alright. He couldn't take anything else.

Sam wasn't sure how much time had passed before the door finally opened and Dean was wheeled out on a hospital bed. Sam stood immediately and tried to follow, but one of the doctors put a hand out to stop him.

"Are you the brother, Sam?"

"Um, yeah, that's my brother. Is he going to be okay?"

"Your brother has a fairly deep head laceration and a severe concussion. He lost a lot of blood and that caused the shock that made his heart stop. We were able to get it started again, but he's not out of the woods. We're taking him up to the ICU right now."

"I... how long before we can go home?" Sam whispered.

The doctor looked at Sam oddly. "Well, that depends on your brother, really. He's still not stable. We'll need to monitor him for at least a few days. With head trauma as severe as his, there's the possibility of further complications. We'll be able to assess him better once we've gotten a CT and he regains consciousness, but there's a possibility he'll need surgery. Let's just concentrate on getting your brother through the next couple days." The doctor gave Sam a long, evaluating look, and then added, "You're brother's young and in good physical shape, and that's in his favor, but if you have family to call, I'd call them."

Sam shut his eyes, blocking out the stern-faced man in front of him. No. Just, **no**. Dean was going to make it, because... But Dean was going to have to be here for a little while, which... Oh, God... They only had two, maybe three days max before sex would be an issue again... Fear trailed icy fingers down his back to war with the noxious feeling of disgust that was quickly taking up residence in his stomach.

He leaned against the wall, his head a jumbled mess. God, he shouldn't have to worry about molesting Dean in a fucking hospital bed. Fuck, if the hospital staff caught him they'd lock him up in the crazy ward and throw away the key. He'd have to leave, if it came down to it. There was no other way. Unless Dean made a really fast recovery, Sam was going to have to leave his brother in the hospital, alone.


	19. Chapter 19

Sam's vision blurred and he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. It was a little ironic that he'd finally figured out how to break the weird energy sex high only to find he wanted it back. He shook his head, trying to shake the fatigue away.

"You need anything, honey?" one of the nurses poked her head in and asked.

"No," he muttered. He just needed Dean to wake up. It'd been over twenty-four hours now.

"You should go lay down. There's a couch in the waiting room, and nobody's here this time of night," she added.

"Not leaving him," Sam replied forcefully. Not now. Not yet. They kept asking him, and he was getting a little tired of the nagging. At least no one had tried to physically remove him. He couldn't vouch for his actions if they did.

He felt a cup nudge against his hand, and he took it from her gratefully. It was nasty coffee, but it was strong, and the warmth was soothing. Dean's hands were always cold. He picked one of them up and gently wrapped it around the cup, but Dean didn't react.

Dimly, he was aware that the nurse left the room. Careful to keep the cup steady, he reached his other hand up and rested it against Dean's leg, stroking over the hard muscle until it slipped to the inside of Dean's thigh. At least it was warm there, a reassuring sign that Dean was still alive. He rested his head against Dean's hip. _Please, Dean._

Dean's hand twitched and Sam jerked back. "Dean?" He took the cup and set it on the roll-away table.

His brother whimpered slightly, the sound low and pain-filled, and his eyelids fluttered a little. Sam hit the call button and then grabbed Dean's hand once more. "Dean?" he prompted a second time.

Dean's hand spasmed tightly around his, and he stood, reaching up to run a hand shakily over Dean's forehead. "Come on, Dean. You can do it."

Dean's eyes snapped open, glassy and unfocused. "Sammy..." Dean called out, almost a sigh, before his eyes slipped closed again.

The nurse finally came in and asked, "What do you need, hon?"

"He's awake," Sam replied, not even risking a glance away from Dean's face, daring to hope for the first time since Dean's heart had stopped.

The nurse came over and started checking Dean's vitals, and Sam wanted to yell at her to go get the damn doctor, but his voice seemed locked in his chest, smothered by his shallow breaths.

He kept his focus riveted on Dean's face, waiting for another twitch, another sign of consciousness. There was nothing.

He jumped a while later when the nurse put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I think it was a false alarm, honey," she said quietly, her voice laced with pity.

 _No, damn it. Dean had been awake. He'd seen it._

Dean lay there. Silent.

Sam sank back into the chair, a dry sobbing heave escaping before he went back to his vigil.

~o0O0o~

"Hey, Bobby. It's me, Sam... again. Look, I really need you to call me back. I mean, as soon as you get this, because, Dean's not..." Sam's throat tightened; he couldn't quite manage to get the words out. "Look, just call, all right?"

Sam closed the phone with a snap. He ran his finger over the power button and shoved it back into his pocket as he rushed back into the building toward the ICU. It had been more than two days. Two _fucking_ days, and his brother was no closer to being released. He hadn't even really woken up, beyond that one time, when he'd woken up just enough to rip Sam's heart out of his chest.

Dean was getting worse. He was bleeding into his brain - that's what the doctors had told him an hour ago, and the only thing they could do, besides wait and hope it healed up on its own, was surgery... which the doctor didn't want to do because he said it was too risky. Too close to Dean's speech center or something. But the bleeding could cause Dean to stroke out before they could even react, and that wasn't... that just didn't bear thinking about.

Sam slowed as he approached Dean's room, allowing himself a moment to fantasize about walking into the room and finding Dean conscious, sitting up and animatedly chatting up some nurse like nothing was wrong.

But Sam hadn't had good luck since he was six months old. Why the fuck would it start now?

Sam entered the room to find his brother still lying there, unmoving. He sat down next to him and took his pale hand into his own. He curled Dean's into a fist and brought it up to caress the knuckles with his lips. "C'mon, Dean, I need you to wake up now..." he whispered.

There was no reaction.

"I'm okay, you know... but... I don't know how much longer that's gonna last." The image of him raping his unconscious brother flashed through his mind once more; he couldn't seem to get it out of his head. His brain ached with it. "I just... I tried calling Bobby, Dean. Hell, I even tried calling Dad, but... I don't know why Bobby isn't picking up. I just... I need my big brother. I need you to fix this," his voice sounded wrecked even to his own ears and his hand tightened reflexively around Dean's. He gave it a little shake in frustration. "You just need to wake the fuck up," he ordered, anger coloring his raised voice, startling himself. He hadn't meant to talk that loud.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered, as if Dean could hear anything he was saying, as if shouting would make a difference. He sat for a while, agonizing with himself, but he was running out of time, and he didn't have any other options. "You walk out of this hospital, Dean, or I swear to God, I won't be far behind you."

He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over Dean's before standing and striding out of the room without looking back.

He stopped by the nurses' desk long enough to give his cell phone number to the surprised receptionist and then left, climbing into the Impala with one large burst of energy, only to then drive around aimlessly. He felt better in the car, wrapped securely in her comforting embrace.

He couldn't face the empty motel room, but he couldn't stomach the thought of being too far away from Dean either, and so he ended up driving back and forth through the small town, his thoughts spinning a mile a minute around nothing productive.

A couple of hours later he found himself parked in front of the bar where Dean'd been attacked, debating whether or not to go in and confront the ass who worked there. The whole thing just didn't make any sense. How could Dean've allowed those idiots to get the drop on him like that?

The sign on the door said the place was open and, suddenly coming to a decision, he swung himself out of the car and walked in. The bartender from the other night was at the counter, but the place was otherwise empty. It was probably still a little too early for the lunch time drinkers to show up. With a snarl, Sam walked behind the counter and grabbed the man, shoving him against the counter and bending him backwards onto the bar. "What the hell happened the other night?" Sam hissed into the man's face, shaking him a little for emphasis.

"I don't know what you're..."

Sam lifted him a little and shoved him back down, cutting him off. "Don't pretend you didn't know my brother was out back," Sam demanded, bringing his arm back to take a swing.

"Hey!" the man squeaked, dissembling almost immediately, and Sam had to stomp down on his the disappointment. "Your brother brought it on himself."

"What?" Sam growled, forcing himself to hold his punch so the man would keep talking.

"He came in here and bought a bottle of Jack. Sat there getting himself drunk, good and fast. Then he went over to some of the boys and started taunting them..." Sam's hand clutched tighter around the collar of the coward's shirt and the man started talking even faster, "I swear, he was taunting them, trying to provoke them, but they weren't rising to it. And then, they started playing pool. They did that for a while and I thought it was going to be okay, but he was still drinking and then, he suddenly grabs Joe, gets him pinned against the wall, and before anyone knew it, the faggot's kissing him full on the lips, man. It was sick!"

Sam couldn't help it, his hand swung down and slammed into the man's face, hard. He brought it back again and landed a few more blows before he could make himself shove the man away. The idiot cowered on the floor, an arm raised defensively, but he still had the gall to continue, "Shit man, I told them to take it outside, I don't hold with fightin' in my bar. But what the fuck did he expect? Provoking a man like that?"

Sam didn't remember taking out the gun, didn't remember kneeling down and grabbing the man again, didn't remember shoving the gun under the man's chin, but the warm liquid soaking into his denim covered knee somehow managed to bring him back to himself, and he pushed away in disgust, slipping the gun away. Getting thrown in jail wasn't going to help Dean at all... although God only knew what would. Dean had deliberately provoked the damned attack. So much for his claims of being okay with what Sam was doing to him.

He forced his attention back to the bartender. "My brother's been in the ICU for two days. He could die. You report this, and I'll either bring a counter charge of attempted murder against you, for allowing a hate crime to go on in your bar... or maybe, maybe I'll just come back and finish the job. Got it?"

He shoved the man onto the ground and left without waiting for a response. He climbed back into the Impala and just sat for a few moments, trying to get his brain to reengage. He didn't think the man would call the cops but... it was probably a good idea to make himself scarce.

Of course, maybe getting thrown in jail was a good plan. He couldn't go after Dean if he was locked up... it wasn't a bad idea... but maybe not with an arsenal in the trunk of the car, and anyway, he wanted out of the damp jeans, so he just headed back to the motel instead.

He stripped out of his clothes as soon as he locked the door behind him and headed into the bathroom. He waited long enough for the water to heat up and stepped into the tub, bracing himself against the wall and letting the spray wash over him. He hadn't showered since before Dean had been put in the hospital and the water felt sinfully good as it cascaded over his tired, aching body.

He still didn't know what to do, didn't know how to keep his brother safe. _What if he managed to stay coherent enough to get back to the hospital after the curse hit him again?_

He should tie himself up, maybe in the bathroom, so he'd still have access to water and stuff.

He absently ran shaking hands over his suddenly throbbing wrists. He could still feel the faint scaring from... but this _wasn't_ the same. He'd be tying _himself_ up this time. He'd be doing this to _himself_. It was completely different.

A noise in the pipes made him whirl around and brace for an attack, but there was nobody there. " _Shit_ ," he said with a quiet laugh at his own expense. He didn't have time for a freak out right now. He had to figure out what to do before it was too late. Time seemed to press in on him like a tangible weight. No way to make it stop, it just kept flowing by relentlessly.

 _Hands slide down his back in a soft caress, pressing gently against his tension-filled muscles, urging him to relax. He jerks forward, away from the hands, cutting off the cry that tries to escape his lips, keeps moving until he's stopped by the shower wall, no where to go. No way to escape. He presses his whole body against the smooth tile, but the gentle hands just follow; lying hands that promise nothing but pain._

"No," he muttered angrily. "You aren't here." His stomach clenched in rebellion, and he turned his head, resting his cheek against the cool shower tiles.

 _The hands slide slowly down, until they're hovering over his ass, pressing into the muscle, slipping along the skin in soft circles, urging him to just relax... just accept..._

 _A warm puff of breath whispers over his skin, sending shivers racing up his back. "Samuel... my pet..."_

The words slithered through his mind and he let out a whimper, "No, you're _dead, damn it_." He hit his forehead against the wall and then slammed a fist, searching for a distraction. Pain was radiating up his hand and arm, but he could still feel the creature's invasive touch. It wasn't enough.

He needed Dean here. Dean would keep him safe. God, he was so weak; so pathetic. He couldn't even face being alone for a few hours any more. _What if Dean didn't make it?_

He let out a strangled sob as he slammed his fist back into the wall. He did it a couple more times for good measure; kept going until his fist was bleeding and he was decorating the wall with red, painting it with diluted burgundy drops that slipped down the wall like tears. Dean needed him, and he was failing him. Dean could _die_. The doctor had made that pretty clear. Dean could die _alone_ , thanks to him.

He felt his knees start to give and he managed to turn around before sliding down the wall, letting the water pound against him, needle sharp, almost cutting in its intensity. He wished the harsh spray would just keep doing that - just wear him away until there was nothing left.


	20. Chapter 20

Stabbing pain in the back of his head chased Dean into consciousness. "Shit, Sammy," he moaned, "why'd you let me drink so much?" Damn, his voice sounded like death warmed over. He waited for an answer, but there was nothing, nothing but an annoying beeping off to his left. _The fuck?_ He opened his eyes and was greeted with Pepto-Bismol walls and a privacy curtain.

The fight came back in a rush, but he couldn't remember how it ended. Shit. Those _Deliverance_ refugees had landed him in the hospital? He let out a pained groan as guilt surged up. This hadn't been exactly what he'd intended... add one more to his growing list of fuck-ups.

"Sammy?" he croaked out. Still nothing. Fuck this. He ripped the nose thing off his face and sat up, clutching at the bed desperately when the room started doing back flips around him. He absently ripped the IV needle out of his arm while he waited for the room to steady, and then stood, grabbing onto an IV stand to help him walk across the room.

A nurse rushed up to him as he grabbed onto the door frame. "Where's my brother?" he demanded as she grabbed his arm.

"Sir, you really shouldn't be out of bed right now. Let's get you back there and then I'll go fetch the doctor and tell him you're finally awake."

Dean managed to stand his ground against the woman, refusing to be bullied back to bed, and she scowled at him. "Sam... tall guy. He's around here somewhere, right?" His gut clenched as he realized he was being an idiot - Sam might not even be going by that name. He really had banged his head up good. Unless, shit, he'd been so sure Sammy was here, but maybe Sam didn't even know where he was.

The nurse was still standing there scowling at him and he put a hand up against his eyes, trying to organize his swimming thoughts. "Look, how did I get here?" he asked, softening his tone a bit.

"Sir, let me get you back in bed, and then I'll be happy to talk to you about your situation."

"Fine," he conceded in defeat. He took a step away from the wall and the floor shifted under him. "Fuck," he muttered as the nurse caught him without comment and helped him back to the bed.

He lay down with a sigh as the woman, Betty, he made out when he looked for her name tag, fussed over his IV line for a minute. What little patience he had was just about gone when Betty finally looked at him and said, "Your brother brought you in about six days ago..."

Dean sat up, nausea flooding through him to add to his misery, "Six days?"

"Sir," she said sternly, pushing him back down, "please, yes, six days ago you came in, having suffered a severe beating..."

Dean cut her off again, "Where's my brother?"

"...and you suffered a major head trauma, which caused blood loss and shock bad enough that you went into full cardiac arrest," she continued, talking over him and ignoring his question, a firm hand resting on his chest, holding him down. "We managed to get your heart beating again in the ER, but your head injury worsened and you've been unconscious since you came it. It's been getting steadily better for the last day, and we've been expecting you to wake up. That's the broad overview. Now, why don't you let me go get the doctor so he can explain all this to you in more detail?"

She started to pull away, as if she'd answered his question at all, and he grabbed hold of her arm and managed to grit out, "My brother? Where is he?"

She turned back, a smile he suspected she thought was reassuring plastered across her face, "Well, seems he left the hospital a few days ago. We haven't seen him since. He did leave a cell number, as I understand."

Shit. Dean forced himself to relax back and meekly ask for the doctor, but there was no way he was staying here. As soon as she was gone, he climbed off the bed and looked around for his clothes. _Shit._ Six days, maybe seven if you counted that they hadn't had sex for at least a half a day before that. He ached everywhere, which slowed him down, and his search was complicated by the spinning room, but he managed to find the bag of his stuff stashed in the closet.

He groaned when he opened it. The t-shirt was cut open across the front, the flannel shirt was missing half of its buttons and what was left of his clothing was covered in blood. "Sammy," he muttered to himself, "you couldn't bring me a fucking change of clothes before you left?" At least his wallet and cell were still there, shoved into the bottom of the bag.

He grabbed his phone and turned it on to speed-dial his brother, glad someone had at least thought to turn it off, and then anxiously waited as it slowly connected. "Come on, damn it, answer the god damn phone," he muttered under his breath as it rang, only to be greeted with voice mail. He snapped the thing closed and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans before sliding them on. It was kind of gross, but it was gonna have to do. He skipped the t-shirt and just put on the work shirt, doing up the few buttons that were left and securing the rest with some surgical tape he found lying in a tray near the bed. Now if he could just get out of the hospital without being tackled by Nurse Ratchet.

Fortunately, the hallway was quiet, and the nurse at the desk moved off to do something after only a few minutes' wait, so Dean moved quickly to the stairwell door and slipped through before resting against the concrete wall to catch his breath. He was doing just awesome.

He pushed himself off the wall to the stairs before he was ready and practically fell headfirst down them when the world moved on him, leaving him clutching at the hand rail stupidly like an old man. He crawled down them as fast as he could and an eternity later he was climbing into the back seat of a cab.

The cab driver looked at Dean suspiciously when he gruffly muttered the name of the shit motel they'd been staying at, but the man started the car after moment with a shrug, which was a relief, since Dean really didn't think he was at his threatening best right at the moment. The cab driver drove slowly, giving Dean ample time to agonize over the actual likelihood that Sam would still be where he'd left him. If he wasn't... Dean's brain spun on that for a while and before he knew it they were pulling up in front of the run-down building.

The Impala was sitting out in front of the place, dust covering her windshield, which either meant Sam was hanging out here, or that he'd left on foot. Dean stamped down the panic that was hovering just below the surface and pulled himself out of the cab, throwing some money at the driver and moving unsteadily toward the door.

When he made it to the door, he stopped and leaned his head against it, listening in vain for any noises coming from the room. He wasn't sure what he was gonna find when he opened the door, and that unknown was terrifying and yet, for some reason he was just standing there like an idiot.

He banged his forehead against the door once and winced back in pain, watching the faded room number swim before him. Fuck, that had been monumentally stupid. He slipped the key from his pocket and into the lock. The door silently swung open, revealing a dark room, and Dean stepped cautiously inside. "Sammy?" Dean called out, his voice soft and wrecked.

He heard a sharp intake of breath before Sam answered, "Dean?" in a voice that was as broken as his own. Sammy was sitting with his back against the wall next to the bathroom, naked except for an old pair of jeans that rode low on his waist, his long legs tucked in as close as he could bend them to his body. Sam was definitely still breathing, wasn't even passed out or crazed out of his mind or hurting himself or any of the dozen other scenarios that had apparently been playing themselves out in his subconscious when he wasn't looking. He did look gaunt, dark circles smeared under his eyes, but mostly he looked... okay.

"Dean?" Sam whispered again, and Dean's eyes must have finally been adjusting to the dim light because he could see the shine of tears about to fall in Sam's large dark eyes.

The inertia rooting him to the spot suddenly broke and he moved across the room and dropped to the floor next to his brother, gathering him up into his arms. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, clinging to him like he was drowning, burying his face in Dean's neck as slight tremors rocked through his body, and Dean felt like his heart was gonna rip itself out of his chest. Shit. He'd really screwed the fuck up.

He pressed a kiss against Sam's temple and rocked him like a child, whispering over and over about how sorry he was. Gradually, he became aware of Sam's lips moving softly over the skin of his neck, traveling wetly upward to mouth lightly over Dean's jaw, rasping over the stubble he found there. Dean really shouldn't have been surprised, and he wasn't, except... it felt really good, warm and welcoming without the panicked urgency he'd been steeling himself for since he'd woken up in the hospital. He turned his face and caught Sam's mouth with his own, licking in when Sam opened to his silent request. They ran their tongues together, twining over and around each other, and Sam pressed in deeper, like he was trying to let himself be consumed.

Sam moved a hand against Dean's back and suddenly Dean was very aware of the movement of chain that trailed down from Sam's hand. That shattered the mood. Dean jerked himself back with a muttered, "What the fuck, Sam?"

Sam mirrored him, pulling his hands back and turning a deep enough red that Dean could see the glow in the dim light. Sam wrapped a large hand around the handcuff that was attached both to his wrist and to a long chain that snaked around and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean closed his eyes and shook his head once, "Dude, do I even wanna know?"

Sam laughed, thin and shaky, but it had been a while, and Dean _really_ missed that sound. "I was... it was only... it seemed like a good idea at the time..." Sam stammered lamely.

Dean peered around the door jam into the bathroom and discovered that the chain was wrapped around the toilet and fastened tightly with a sturdy padlock. Wrappers from those funky energy bars that Sammy liked to keep around were piled under the sink like a strange sort of shrine, and there was a towel and some toilet paper, but other than that the bathroom was cleared.

Why the fuck was Sammy chained to the toilet? Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who was still flushed a deep red, and waited.

"The key's on the table next to the door," Sam muttered with a nod. Dean blinked at him slowly before the words sunk in, and then he realized with a rush of coherency that Sam had actually trapped himself here. He stood to get the key and suddenly the vertigo was back with a vengeance, with pain chiming in as an orchestral accompaniment. Dean staggered over to the table, pressing a hand against his head in a futile attempt to block the throbbing ache.

"Dean, are you okay?" he heard Sam ask as he picked up the small handcuff key and moved back.

"'M fine, Sammy. Gimme your hand."

Sam hissed slightly when the handcuff snapped open, revealing angry red, bruised skin underneath. He'd put the damn thing on way too tightly. Irritation flared as Dean wondered once more what in the hell Sam had been thinking. "Get off the floor, Sam," he ordered, following his own advice and sinking tiredly onto the bed.

The throbbing in his head was increasing, making it harder to think. He tried shaking his head but that only made it worse. Dimly, he was aware of Sammy saying something to him, but he couldn't seem to make out the words. He clung to consciousness, vaguely aware that his brother probably needed him... for something, but another stabbing pain convinced him to give up the fight.

~o0O0o~

A warm hand slowly stroked through his hair, soothing Dean back to consciousness. The intense pain from before had receded back to a dull ache, much to his relief. His head was resting on Sam's chest, and Sam was wrapped protectively around him. He could hear his brother's heartbeat. It was a good sound.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, apparently aware that Dean'd woken up.

The room was darker than it had been by quite a bit. He'd been asleep for a while then. He shifted slightly and looked over the side of the bed. The chain was still lying on the floor, forgotten.

He brought a hand up to press against his face, belatedly realizing he should probably respond to his brother. "Hey, Sammy," he said, his brain sluggishly trying to engage enough to be coherent. Sam seemed... okay, which, after six days of him in the hospital, really shouldn't be true. "Sammy, the curse? Is it..." He couldn't imagine it was just gone. They didn't have that kind of luck.

"It's still here, Dean," Sam said with a sigh. Sam shifted, but Dean was comfortable and he didn't move, watched sort of abstractly as his hand moved to trace over the muscles in Sam's stomach. "It's just... not bad. Hasn't _been_ bad, really. I thought... I thought it would be though. That's why..." Sam gestured with his chin to the chain on the floor.

Anger surged at his brother's brilliant plan, and he sat up so he could look Sam in the face. "You... you're telling me you locked yourself up here to avoid touching me in the hospital?" Dean asked incredulously. "Dude, that's fucked up. What if I'd stayed out of it for a couple of weeks?"

"It probably wouldn't have mattered anymore if you'd been gone that long, Dean." Sam's voice sounded small and lost in the dark room.

"I... Sam, why didn't you just stay at the hospital? What if I'd woken up, but couldn't get away, huh? You should have stayed."

Sam's face twisted into a grimace, "What if I'd hurt you? I couldn't... I couldn't risk that..."

"You wouldn't have hurt me, Sam."

Sam looked at him incredulously for a moment before replying, "I hurt you before. What makes you think I wouldn't do it again?"

Sam's gaze was fixed on Dean's neck, and he raised his hand self-consciously to run fingers over the still healing scar that Sam had given him back at that diner. Dean sighed, the old argument was enough to make his head start spinning again, "You _didn't. Hurt_ me. Damn it, Sam, how many more times do we have to go over this?" Sam started to turn away and Dean grabbed Sam's face and forced him back. "Yes, the sex got a little rougher than I'd like that _one time_ , but you did _not_ hurt me. Not in a lasting way. Sam... God, if I'd woken up and you'd been gone..."

Sam snorted derisively and Dean shook him hard in response. "That fucker doesn't get to win, Sam," Dean said forcefully, "It only wins if we let it."

Sam pulled his face out of Dean's hand and bit out angrily, "Yeah, well, you almost did, didn't you, Dean?"

And, okay, that made no sense. "What?"

"You don't think killing yourself isn't exactly what..." Sam's voice broke a bit, "... _it_ wants?"

Dean went still, guilt twisting his gut painfully. "No, Sam, I didn't... that was just a bar fight that got out of hand, okay?"

"No, Dean, not okay." Sam got off the bed and stood up, the lines of his body tense. "You got yourself wasted and then provoked the fight on purpose. I talked to the bartender. I know what happened."

"I didn't... that wasn't..." Okay, Dean couldn't actually remember much after the fight started. He couldn't really remember much _before_ the fight started either.

Sam kept talking right over him, "You almost _died_ , Dean."

"I know that, they told me..."

"No, Dean, before that. Guy had a knife. If I'd been just two seconds later, he would've killed you with it." Sam's voice sounded strangled and he looked pale and shaky. Not sure what to say or do to help, Dean just sat there like a jerk, staring at Sam, before realizing with a start that, it was _okay_ if he hugged Sam now, even when Sam wasn't in physical danger. Just to offer Sam the reassurance that he wasn't alone, that _they_ weren't alone. He got off the bed and stepped into Sam's personal space, but Sam turned away, walked to the dresser and rested his arms against it in full-on brood mode.

Dean leaned against the wall, staring at Sam's back. "How _did_ you find me just in the nick of time, anyway?"

"Same way I killed the spirit. I just... knew you were in trouble. My powers have been growing since we started the whole... sex thing."

Sam's body was one long tense line, practically screaming with self-recrimination. Dean kept his tone carefully neutral, pushing away his own doubts. Sam had been sensitive about the whole psychic thing since it started, since way before he was attacked, and he didn't need Dean's unease adding to it, especially now. "So... you got a vision?"

"No, nothing like a vision." Sam turned around and glanced at Dean, but then dropped his eyes to the floor. "It's like, we're connected, or something; I know when you're hurt or in trouble. Or, going to be in trouble. I mean, I knew you needed me before you actually needed me, the other night. I knew enough in advance that I was able to get to you in time, but I didn't actually know _what_ was going to happen... and I also knew when your heart started beating again at the hospital..." Sam sounded almost ashamed or something.

"Wow," Dean said, purposely looking for the good in all this, "that's... kinda handy. Too bad it doesn't go both ways. I mean, on a hunt? That could be useful. Sounds like I owe my life to these powers of yours."

Sam finally looked up and met Dean's gaze, "So, this seriously doesn't freak you out a little?"

Dean buried his trepidation down deep. He couldn't afford it. "Sammy, our lives detoured into bizarre about seven months ago. A few extra powers, that just happen to be useful, by the way, are hardly a blip on the radar."

A corner of Sam's mouth curved upward in a half smile, and Dean considered that a win. "Hey, I wasn't trying to get myself hurt, you know. I was just trying to blow off a little steam. I didn't mean to scare the shit out of you. I'm sorry for that." Suddenly slightly uncomfortable, Dean continued, "Now come over here and give big brother a hug!" He threw his arms out wide and received a startled laugh from Sam.

Dean was just starting to lower his arms when Sam suddenly stepped forward and embraced him. Dean had a moment of panic when he couldn't figure out what to do with his hands, but then his brain reengaged and he returned the desperate hug.

"Promise me the next time you decide to go get into a bar fight, you'll bring some fucking backup, jerk." Sam mumbled against his neck.

Dean couldn't quite bring himself to tease back, and instead opted for hugging his brother back even tighter. "Yeah, sorry, dude. I promise, okay?" Sam didn't reply, and after a minute or so, he felt like he should be getting uncomfortable, so he gently pushed Sam back and sat down on the bed with a soft sigh. He'd only been up for five minutes and already he was ready for another nap.

"So," he started, leaning back and looking up at Sam, "you got any theories on why the curse isn't making you nuts?"

Sam sat down next to him, letting out a snort of air through his nose. "I did call Bobby, you know."

"Dude, non sequitur much?"

Sam looked at him sideways through his hair, "I called Bobby before I chained myself up. That was my back-up plan, if you were in the hospital too long. I just... he hasn't called back yet. He's... probably out on a hunt. I'm not sure."

"Oh. Well, I still think your plan sucked balls."

That drew a snorted laugh. Sam nodded once and raised his eyebrows at Dean as he pushed his too-long hair out of his face. Dean was suddenly aware that the hand was discolored and he grabbed it for a closer inspection. The skin was mottled with bruises, none of them new, and the skin across the knuckles was scabbed over, with swelling underneath that traveled down into his wrist. Sam snatched his hand back, tucking it across his stomach and out of sight, a scowl on his face. "Dude," Dean said, trying unsuccessfully to catch Sam's eyes. "What the fuck?"

Sam's face colored a little and he said defensively, "I must've hurt it when I was breaking up your fight."

Dean just raised an eyebrow, "Uh huh. You don't get that kind of damage hitting skin, Sammy."

"Nothing's broken, Dean. Just let it go."

"Just let it go?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Yeah, Dean, take a clue, I don't want to talk about it," Sam replied, his voice edged with anger.

Dean took a long breath in, and let it go slowly. "Okay then. Curse?"

Sam lay back on the bed, looking suddenly tired and Dean followed him down, lying on his side so he could see Sam's face. "I had a lot of time to think about that, and actually, I do have a theory. I think it was worse in the beginning because we were fighting it so hard. I think as long as we... don't fight it, it's not going to force us as much. There's actually some evidence in some of the stories that I was reading when we were researching at Bobby's that would support that idea."

"Okay, well, I guess that makes a certain amount of sense, but, I mean, if that's the case, then this curse isn't really all that bad, and it's actually making you more bad-ass than you were, so..." Dean shook his head in confusion. "I guess I'm just not sure why the creature mojoed you with this. What was the point?"

Sam looked away, "I think it planned to kill you before we ever got okay with all this, Dean. It wanted you to find me... God, it practically salivated every time it brought your name up. He talked about..." Sam's voice broke and Dean winced at the pronoun slip, felt it like a physical blow. Somehow he managed to let Sam keep talking even though it was killing him; Sam needed to be able to talk to him about what had happened. "...it was planning for you to show up pretty much from the beginning, Dean. It was gonna use you to break me... to break both of us. It taunted me with that... I don't think it ever expected the Colt."

Dean pulled Sam against him, wrapping his legs around his brother and tucking Sam's head against his chest. Sam trembled slightly against him and he felt like an idiot for having even brought the subject up in the first place. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, until Sam tugged free from Dean's arms and rolled over onto his back.

Dean reached out and ran a hand over Sam's chin, turning his face back to look at him. "Hey, it didn't win. It didn't break us. I think we're okay, you know?"

"Yeah?" Sam whispered, and Sam had that look on his face that he used to get when he was a kid, the one that said he trusted Dean to have all the answers, trusted Dean to be able to make everything better. Dean's heart twisted painfully in his chest and he dropped a kiss to Sam's lips, and somehow, that didn't feel wrong at all.


	21. Epilogue

Dean was dead asleep, the effects of last night's overindulgence still lingering, and Sam took advantage, moving carefully onto the bed and straddling Dean before teasingly waving the coffee under his nose. Dean came awake with a slight start and smiled up at him blearily. "Oh, God yes," he muttered before snagging the coffee from Sam's hand and awkwardly bending up to take a sip.

"I got donuts," Sam said with a grin.

"Oh," Dean groaned, "you really do love me."

Sam laughed and started to move off his brother, but Dean grabbed him and pulled him back. The coffee was quickly placed on the night stand and then Dean was pulling Sam down for an open mouthed, coffee-flavored kiss.

Sam let himself relax down into his brother's embrace, enjoying the quiet intimacy for a minute, before his gut tightened and he pulled back, searching Dean's face for any sign of a lie, any sign that Dean didn't really mean it, didn't really want this like he claimed. Dean tried to follow him up, his lips chasing after Sam's, but he was forced to stop by Sam's hand on his chest, holding him down.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean muttered. He still looked sleepy, his lips red and moist and just a little bit pouty. Sam didn't answer for a minute as he gazed at Dean, he couldn't find the hatred he was looking for, but he still couldn't let himself believe it wasn't just well hidden, either.

He swung himself off the bed, crossed to the table and picked up the bag of pastries, tossing them at Dean. "You should eat," Sam said, turning his back on his brother and fiddling with his own cup of coffee.

"Dude, moody much?" Dean got up and came over to sit at the table, tossing the bag back down after snagging the large cinnamon roll and shoving a quarter of it in his mouth. "You should eat too," Dean said around his large mouthful of fried dough.

"Nice, Dean, real mature." Sam scowled. "I found a lead on a case this morning. Another haunting two states away."

Dean's chewing slowed and then stopped, and he put the donut down before quietly saying, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I think we're ready, right? I mean, you said yesterday that you were better, unless..."

"I'm good," Dean said, cutting Sam off. "I wasn't..." Dean shook his head irritably, "I'm fine." He got up and crossed to the window, and Sam didn't have the faintest clue what was bothering him, but it was obvious that _something_ was.

"Uh, Dean?"

"Think I'm gonna go for a run," Dean replied, turning to riffle through his duffle, sudden, inexplicable tension making his movements seem stiff.

"Dean, if you have an issue with working a job right now, you need to just come out and say it."

Dean found the clothes he was looking for and moved to the bathroom, but he stopped just inside the doorway with a sigh. Sam watched him in silence for a moment, and then Dean whispered, just barely audible, "I looked up the news reports on the case. They'd labeled her a runaway, Sammy. Nobody even knew she'd been taken by that bastard..."

Sam felt his stomach clench at the quiet confession, and he felt like a first class jerk. He'd been so wrapped up in all his own shit that he hadn't even recognized that Dean was still carrying that failure around. Maybe not so much for the girl who'd become a ghost, Sam thought that was probably a deflection, but for the one they'd had to watch die.

Sam stood up and moved behind his brother, slipping his arms around his waist and pressing a light kiss to his shoulder blade. He could feel Dean's muscles twitching slightly, felt Dean open his mouth to blow it off with a joke, so he grabbed Dean's chin and cut him off with a hungry kiss. He kept their lips locked together as he circled around so he could look fully in Dean's face. Dean was just starting to relax against him when Sam pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. Keeping his hands on either side of Dean's face he said, "We did the best we could. You can't blame yourself for that. At least we finished it so it won't happen again."

Vulnerability flared in Dean's eyes for a moment or two before Dean was shutting it down, ready to go into defensive mode. Sam took advantage of Dean's attempt to say something by slipping his tongue back inside Dean's mouth and sliding their tongues together, enjoying the sticky cinnamon-flavored heat. Dean tried to pull back but Sam tightened his grip on his brother's face, keeping him close, and after a moment, Dean gave in with a groan that went straight to Sam's groin.

Sam backed them up until Dean hit the bed and tumbled backwards, bringing Sam down on top of him. Sam slipped one of his legs between Dean's and pressed down hard enough to bring friction against Dean's cock. Dean pulled back from their kissing long enough to moan, "Oh God, Sammy, this better not be a tease this time."

Sam sat up and straddled Dean once more, pinning him to the bed with the weight of his body. "If you need time before we go on another hunt, you gotta talk to me."

"Wha?" Dean replied intelligently.

"I want you to admit you did everything you could on the last hunt, Dean."

Dean stiffened, guilt flashing across his features, and he scowled up at Sam without replying.

Sam leaned down, resting an arm on Dean's chest. "You don't get to hide stuff from me anymore. We're in this together, okay?"

Dean's lips quirked up in a slight smile, "Yeah, Sammy, that's what I've been trying to tell you." Sam flushed, he'd been manipulated right into that one, and before he realized it, Dean had flipped him onto his back, reversing their positions. Dean opened Sam's shirt, slipping his fingers inside to wrap around Sam's body, bringing their naked chests together and holding him tight.

Sam nuzzled into Dean's neck, breathing him in. He needed this, and, he allowed himself to admit, maybe Dean kinda needed this too. Dean certainly never would have allowed himself to be comforted before all this messed up shit had happened. He'd never let anyone in. The closest Dean had ever come to that was Cassie, and Dean was fooling himself if he really thought a three-week affair counted for anything.

If Sam were honest with himself, the last couple weeks Dean'd seemed happier than he had in a long time. Maybe even happier than ever. Sam shut down the voice that insisted there was something wrong with that - he was tired of hearing from it. As much as he'd tried to fight it, their lives had never been anything other than fucked up. Maybe the best they could do was to take what happiness they could find and run with it.

Sam licked over the puckered scar on Dean's neck, the familiar, answering ache of _mine_ stirring in his gut. Dean groaned and tilted his head away, offering himself freely.

"Mine," Sam whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean responded, "I'm all yours."

  
 **~fin**

  
 **  
Other stories in the verse:  
[First Prequel: Torn Apart](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/12750.html)  
[Second Prequel: Searching For Answers](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/13105.html)  
[Sequel: A Question of Choice](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/29379.html)  
**

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  **Author's Notes and Thanks:** So I hope you all enjoyed my story. It's my first real fan fic, and I'm pretty proud of it. I'm definitely not done with this verse - I need John to come back, so I'm going to have to write at least a short sequel, plus I have two prequels already written which needed to come out of my head. They are in beta, and will be posting soon. One of them is pretty unrelentingly dark, so please heed the warnings.
> 
> This fic started as a birthday exchange between [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/) and me. She's the absolute best friend a girl could ever have. She's my inspiration both inside and outside of fandom. I'm a better person because of her. She's the one that got me writing, she's the one that made this story as good as it is, and her WIP, post-apocalyptic, fuck-or-die, slave!fic, **[Winchester Synchronicity](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/1115.html)** , is way better than mine - so please check it out and tell her what your think! I promise you won't be disappointed.
> 
> I'd also like to thank my good friends, [](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/profile)[**amara_m**](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/) and [](http://denyce.livejournal.com/profile)[**denyce**](http://denyce.livejournal.com/) for encouraging me to sign this story up for Big Bang last New Year's. It's been really exciting to be a part of such a community effort, and without their encouragement, I never would have had the courage to join.
> 
> Thanks also to [](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[**wendy**](http://wendy.livejournal.com/) and the rest of the [](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_j2_bigbang**](http://spn-j2-bigbang.livejournal.com/) mods, who run the best writing challenge in the Supernatural fandom.
> 
> In addition, I'd like to thank [](http://amothea.livejournal.com/profile)[**amothea**](http://amothea.livejournal.com/), who was gracious enough to host my file all in one so people can download it easily.
> 
> Finally, I'd like to thank my big bang artists, [](http://acerbus-instar.livejournal.com/profile)[**acerbus_instar**](http://acerbus-instar.livejournal.com/) and [](http://corbeaun.livejournal.com/profile)[**corbeaun**](http://corbeaun.livejournal.com/), who did absolutely amazingly beautiful art that made me want to cry. Go shower them with love people!
> 
> **Thanks for reading!**
> 
>   
>    
> 


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